


Hillary's Holiday

by kronette



Category: Lara Croft: Tomb Raider (Movies)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-07 10:23:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hillary ticked off the last ‘to do’ on his list with a flourish of finality. It had been a long week and he was looking forward to his holiday. After all, even butlers deserved a break now and again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hillary ticked off the last ‘to do’ on his list with a flourish of finality. It had been a long week and he was looking forward to his holiday.

Lara never minded when he needed time away, but this wasn’t a particularly good time to do it. She’d just returned from Ecuador with bruised ribs and needed looking after.

He snorted lightly. All right, she didn’t actually _need_ looking after; he just felt it part of his duty as her friend. She was a perfectly capable woman to take her meds as the doctor had instructed, but he didn’t trust her not to overdo it. One thing Lara Croft was famous for – besides questionable archaeology – was her strong will. She wouldn’t relax and stay in bed, he was sure of it.

He sighed and stood up from his writing desk. He still had to get the list of things to look after to the head chambermaid, double-check that the kitchen was well-stocked, make a final sweep of the house to satisfy himself he was leaving it pristine, check on Lara one last time and finish packing before his train that evening.

He fished for the fob watch in his vest pocket and clicked it open. Six thirty already. He best get moving.

By eight o’clock, he was damp with sweat but pleased he’d gotten everything except his packing accomplished. The head chambermaid, Susanna, had practically pushed him out of her room, good-naturedly ordering him out of the Manor. The same of Henry, the chef, and Lara, who went so far as to toss a book at him as he hedged not going on his trip.

“Out!” she’d commanded him, laughing and holding her side. “I don’t want to see you for a week, Nicolas Hillary, and that’s an order.”

He’d been unsuccessful in hiding a smirk as he bowed to her. “As you wish, Lady Croft.” He’d ducked out of her room before she could throw another book at his head.

After a brief shower and a change into civilian clothes, he selected two pair of shoes from the bottom of his wardrobe and placed them in the smaller bag open on his bed. He retrieved his toiletry kit from the en suite bathroom and placed that on top of his shirts in his larger suitcase. He quickly scanned his small bookcase for reading material on the train, but changed his mind; he’d rather pick up something new at the station. He checked his watch again; 8:26. Geoff, the chauffer, had generously offered to take him to the rail station, but if he didn’t get his arse moving, he’d miss his train.

Figuring he could purchase anything he’d forgotten, he locked the suitcase and snatched up the smaller bag. He caught the bottom of the door with his foot and dragged it closed behind him as he made his way down the stairs. He tucked the smaller bag under his arm and used his free hand to open the front door. As he was reaching again for the bag, he heard a high-pitched whistle. He looked up and saw Bryce waving from a lawn chair outside his trailer.

With a wry grin and a shake of his head, Hillary returned the wave as he descended the steps.

“Do everything I’d do,” Bryce called cheerfully. “Maybe then you’ll have a spot of fun.”

“That would take about three hours,” he muttered under his breath as he tucked his suitcases into the boot of the Bentley. He waved Geoff off as the man tried to open the back door. “Just get in,” he huffed with a grin.

Geoff tipped his hat with an exaggerated bow, then opened the driver’s door as Hillary slid next to him via the passenger door.

“Where are you off to?” Geoff prodded as he drove smoothly away from Croft Manor. “You’ve been secretive about this trip of yours.”

“Have I?” Hillary mused with a wicked grin. He had no intention of telling anyone where he was going on holiday. It had made for some wild speculation, from safari in Africa to diving at the Great Barrier Reef to passing out cups of soup at a homeless shelter. “I guess it just hasn’t come up in conversation.” He got a sideways glare at that and his grin widened. “Present company excluded, of course.”

“You’re just being a private git, like you always are,” Geoff complained good-naturedly. “Don’t you ever just want to,” he waved one hand around wildly, “shout from the rooftops or something? Let everyone in on the joke?”

Hillary bit back laughter. “No, I don’t want to,” he imitated Geoff’s hand waving, “shout my business from the rooftops. I’m perfectly content to let everyone guess.”

Geoff gave him a sideways look again. “You are, aren’t you?”

Hillary settled back on the seat and watched the shadows play across the windshield. “That I am.”

=-=-=-=-=

At the train station, Hillary didn’t have enough time to check out the newsstand. They’d barely arrived in time for him to present his ticket and hand the porter his luggage before the announcement came over the speakers that they were about to depart.

He’d just found his seat when the train jerked forward unexpectedly and his hands clutched at the back of the seats to stay upright. When he realized he’d actually grabbed hold of a woman’s hair in addition to the seat back, he was horrified. “I’m terribly sorry,” he gushed. His stomach did a quick turn as he realized his seat was next to hers. What a terrible first impression, he groaned silently.

Her glare up at him softened as he apologized profusely. “It’s all right,” she assured him with a slight smile. Southern Irish, he suspected from her accent, and her straight red hair and startling green eyes were clichés that didn’t detract from her loveliness.

“I’m afraid it’s worse than some clumsy stranger not paying attention; I’m your seatmate,” he explained ruefully as he slipped past her and into his seat.

She laughed then, a rich sound that tantalized him. He flicked his gaze over her quickly; she was probably mid-thirties, still young-enough looking but with extended years shining from her eyes. Her hand was slightly rough as he grasped it in a handshake. Manual labor of some kind; could be anything from typing pool to gardener. “Nicolas,” he introduced himself with a welcoming smile.

“Ryanne,” she replied, answering his smile.

They spent the next few hours trading innocuous stories about their lives and trips. She was on her way back to Hull from visiting her brother. When Hillary told her he was on holiday from his job at the Manor, she began to tease him.

“But you can’t be a butler,” she insisted with a twinkle in her eye. “They’re old, gray and stuffy.”

He let his eyes drift closed for longer than a blink as her praise washed over and through him. “I assure you, I’ve been a butler for well on fifteen years.”

“No, you say,” she mock-slapped the back of his hand, letting her fingers linger over his skin. “You aren’t a day over thirty.” He chuckled at her obviousness, and her smile grew wicked. “Unless you were prepped when you were ten.”

“I was just twenty when I was hired on at my current employ,” he assured her with a grin of his own. “And what about you? A dental practice of your own at your age?” he teased. “Were you a child prodigy, graduated by sixteen?”

She squeezed his forearm this time and he quickly moved to cover her hand with his, to keep it there. Her gaze lifted from their hands to his eyes, the look flirtatiously coy. “No prodigy. Just a working class gal who’s done a bit of all right. And I’m not that young.”

If ever there was an opening to a set up...taking up his cue, he demurred, “You’re beautiful, no matter your age.” He twisted his hand, picking hers up and placing a kiss on the back of her hand. “My Lady.”

Her cheeks burnished red as she snatched her hand back. “You shouldn’t mock,” she hissed at him, scandalized. “What if it got back to your employer?”

He was stunned by her reaction to his teasing, but realized it must seem strange to the outside world, the relationship he had with Lady Croft. He doubted any other butlers were allowed to befriend their employers the way he and Bryce did Lara. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he stammered. “My relationship with Lara isn’t exactly…orthodox butler to Lady. I’m more her confidante and friend, really.” He reached out and took Ryanne’s hand again, feeling the weight of her wary gaze. “I promise you, if Lara were here, she would not be in the least offended. She would probably think it cute.” As he said it, he wrinkled his nose in distaste. Yes, Lara probably _would_ have mocked him for his instant attraction to Ryanne and giggled – modestly – at his attempt at humor.

Her eyebrow rose in exactly the same manner as Lara’s and he felt a bit out of sorts at the comparison. “She would think it cute that you’re mocking her position?”

He felt heat on his cheeks and neck, presumably they were turning a bit pinkish. “No, that I’m trying to chat you up,” he admitted ruefully.

Ryanne’s unexpected burst of laughter startled him, then he joined in, seeing the ridiculousness of the situation. “Besides, Lara isn’t some old, stuffy bit of royalty. She’s younger than me,” he let slip, and left himself wide open for her next teasing look.

“ _Is_ she now? So what do you do with her in her big mansion, Nicolas? Take care of her every whim and desire?”

How had this conversation turned on him? He thought they were having a bit of fun, but now he shifted uncomfortably. “No,” he stated quietly. “I’m her friend, nothing more.”

She picked up on his unease and touched his chest gently. “I’m sorry. I’ve not only embarrassed you, I’ve offended your Lady.”

A half-laugh stuck in his throat at the idea that anything could offend Lady Croft, but he was embarrassed and it left him out of sorts. He was used to thugs, guns, raids and kidnappings, not the teasing attentions of an attractive woman. “It’s all right,” he managed, modulating his tone carefully neutral. He removed her hand from his chest and placed it back in her lap with a tired sigh.

Their easy banter and pleasant tension drained away, leaving him feeling awkward and not knowing what to say. Hillary rubbed the heel of his hands into his suddenly gritty eyes. He’d been up since half past five that morning, and it was well past his retirement hour. By rights, he should have been dead to the world an hour into the trip, but it felt much later than ten o’clock. A quick check of his fob watch said it was closer to eleven than ten and he groaned softly.

“You all right?” Ryanne asked quietly.

“Tired,” he mumbled, reclining his seat back. He settled the small pillow he’d purchased and laced his fingers together, resting his hands across his chest. “Been a long day.”

He felt tension build up next to him – unpleasant tension. He rolled his head to peer at Ryanne, who was staring down at her fingers twiddling uselessly in her lap. He reached over and stopped their movements, catching Ryanne’s eye. “I’ve been up since half past five,” he explained. “It’s nothing to do with you.”

She let out a breath and graced him with a quirk of her lips. “Sorry. It is late.” She adjusted her seat until she was reclining with him. “I’ll keep my mouth shut and let you rest.”

“Could use the rest,” Hillary mumbled, surprised that sleep had crept up on him so quickly. He could barely keep his eyes open. “Mouth is pretty open or shut,” he heard himself say before the lids closed on his eyes and he was asleep.

When Hillary awoke, it was to Ryanne’s head pillowed comfortably against his shoulder. Despite the incredibly late hour, he still detected the faint scent of her shampoo from that morning.

Only a few hours into his holiday, and he’d already found a woman he wouldn’t mind sharing a bed with for a night or two. Either he was the luckiest man alive, the most desperate, or she was charming and self-effacing, traits that went straight from his upper brain to his lower one. He wanted to check the time, but his watch was in his pocket and he didn’t want to disturb her. She seemed perfectly content and he was as well.

He let his mind wander with the gentle motion of the train, but jerked involuntarily when the speaker announced their impending arrival in Leeds. This time, he did disturb Ryanne, who looked adorable when soft with sleep.

“Sorry,” he whispered, not wanting to wake the other passengers around them. “This is my stop.”

She pushed herself off of him by placing her hands on his chest. At his sharply inhaled breath, colour tinged her cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” she muttered.

“I’m not,” he admitted, shoving onward with his thoughts. Despite their brief stumble surrounding Lara, he was intrigued by her. “I’d like to see you again; perhaps take you to dinner.”

Her gaze looked both hopeful and regretful. “You know I’m headed back to Hull. It’s not even on your schedule.”

“Bollocks to schedules,” he said rather harshly as he took her hand in his. “I find you captivating and I’d like to get to know you better. This is my holiday; I can do damn well whatever I want, and that includes a short trip to Hull.” He squeezed her hand. “Please.”

As the train came to a stop, Ryanne bit her lower lip in consternation. Hillary found himself licking his own lips in anticipation of kissing her. Her eyes tracked the movement of his tongue, desire flaring briefly. “All right,” she relented. “If you get to Hull, you can reach me here.”

She extracted her hand from his and searched her purse for a scrap of paper. He dug into his pocket and retrieved his phone, swiftly pressing a few keys to get to the input screen. “Just type it in,” he urged as he passed it to her. He stood and stretched his legs, smoothing the wrinkles in his trousers. He would have to rush to meet up with his bags on the platform, but he was not leaving that train without a way to contact Ryanne.

Her thumbs moved swiftly and she handed his phone back with a slight blush. “There you are, Nicolas.”

He took the phone blindly. “Don’t you want my number?” he asked with a confused frown. His arms went around her automatically as she stood and kissed him, drawing him down to her smaller frame. She licked at his lower lip and he growled softly, responding by nipping her tongue with his teeth.

She pulled back from him with much higher colour on her cheeks, her green eyes sparkling. “I won’t need your number,” she smiled coyly at him and sat back down, eye-level with his groin. She licked her lips. “You’ll call.”

“God, yes,” he breathed before gathering his wits about him. Thank goodness he wasn’t some adolescent with uncontrollable hormones, or he might have embarrassed himself horribly. As it was, he just felt hot and tingly all over. “I’ll see you, Ryanne.”

“I know you will, Nicolas,” she teased, and he felt her eyes on him as he walked smugly down the aisle to the exit.

Now that was a way to start a holiday.


	2. All Boys Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Leeds, Hillary meets up with his old army buddies for a football match, but his thoughts keep returning to Ryanne. As it's his holiday, he makes a change of plan to visit Hull to surprise her, only he ends up being surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for getting any football terminology wrong. I did as much research as I could.

One-twenty a.m. in Leeds wasn’t quite as dead as he thought, at least not at the train station. He collected his bags and caught a taxi to his hotel. Not even thoughts of Ryanne could keep him awake as he peered, bleary-eyed, at the sign-in sheet at the hotel. He signed his name, accepted the room key and made his way to the lift. 

Once inside his room, he dropped his bags, removed his shoes and was asleep practically before he lay fully on the bed. 

He awoke late for him – almost seven o’clock. He had a few things planned for that morning, but the football match wasn’t until the afternoon. He indulged himself with a bath and called up room service for breakfast. As he dipped his toast into the eggs, he mused over the rest of his trip. Kirkstall Abbey would have to wait until the next day. He’d have enough time to visit the Royal Armouries before the match, but he wanted to keep the evening free. Whether Leeds won or not, there would be pub-crawling if his friends had anything to say about it. And if his previous post-match hangovers were anything to go by, the quietness of the Abbey was about the only thing he’d be able to tolerate. 

Sipping the last of his tea, he finished with breakfast and dressed. His Cooper Leeds shirt wasn’t the pristine white it once was, but it wasn’t supposed to be pretty; it was a football shirt. He only wore it a few times a year when he could get to an away game and the rarer times when he could make the trip to Leeds. 

He set his breakfast tray in the hall, laid out his clothes for tomorrow and checked that he had his wallet, phone and room key. Ribaldi had promised to leave his match ticket at the will-call box office, so he needn’t worry about that. Satisfied that he had everything, he started his walk to the Armouries, enjoying the day before it got too hot. 

The day turned into a bastard of a scorcher well before noon and he was all too happy to hail a taxi to the stadium once he’d finished touring the Armouries and had a bite of lunch. He relaxed in the a/c as they sat in traffic, unconcerned about the fare. He’d be hot, sweaty, irritable and drunk off his arse well into the night and he deserved this respite. When the time crept toward the 1:30 mark, he opted to walk the rest of the way. It was only four blocks by then, so he paid his fare and joined the groups of people walking toward the stadium. 

He gave his name and I.D. to the box office, whistling when he saw the seats Ribaldi had managed. He owed the man more than two rounds for getting his hands on third row at the halfway line. He made his way around the stadium, down to the pitch level where he spotted his old army buddies. Ribaldi was the local boy, while Chancey was from Kerridge. Ribaldi’s enthusiasm for football had rubbed off on his friends, and he left an open invitation whenever either of them were in town to sit with him at the matches. 

He gave a shove to Ribaldi’s shoulder as he sat down next to him. “Who’d you let bugger you to get these seats?” 

“Your mum!” Ribaldi retorted cheekily, slapping him on the back. “Good to see you, Hillary.” 

“Hey, Chancey,” Hillary called once the man was done giving a high-pitched whistle for no reason he could discern. 

“Hillary, you bastard, you made it!” Chancey leaned over Ribaldi to shake his hand, nearly upsetting the beer in Ribaldi’s hand. 

“Oi, watch the lager!” Ribaldi shouted, covering it with his free hand. 

“Chancey, is that a beer gut I see on you?” Hillary teased as he saw how stretched tight the home team shirt was on his friend. 

“I’m expecting me third kid,” Chancey proudly stated as he rubbed his pudgy stomach. “Due 4 October!” 

That hit Hillary like a shot. Third kid? Last time Hillary had seen his friends, Chancey had just had his first. Had it really been that long since he'd been up to Leeds? 

He was left out of the ribbing as Ribaldi tapped the back of his knuckles on Chancey’s stomach. “Yeah, the kid’s a real kicker.” 

"Better be a boy, then, so he can play some footy!" Chancey proudly proclaimed.

Hillary settled in his seat, his thoughts on a fair redhead in Hull until the players took the field. 

=-=-=-=-=

Hillary came to wakefulness with a piteous groan. Leeds had a resounding loss and he, Chancey and Ribaldi had commiserated with the rest of the fans in pub after pub until no more remained open. He had no recollection of how he'd gotten back to his hotel. He pried one eye open to make sure he was actually at his hotel and not splayed out unconscious on someone's couch, or worse, floor. No, he had a view of a wardrobe that looked familiar and upon turning over, noticed that the clothes he'd so carefully laid out the previous day were now in a crumpled heap on the floor. 

He licked his lips and nearly gagged – his mouth tasted like arse. The nerves behind his eyes were throbbing and the pounding in his head kept beat with his heart. Then there was the overall ache that consumed everything above his neck. Perhaps a lie-in wouldn't go amiss for today. The Abbey would keep. Even Ryanne would keep. He pulled the sheet over his ears and slept the day away. 

He woke again around mid afternoon, utterly famished. His mouth tasted worse, but the pounding in his head was down to a dull roar. He stumbled into the bathroom, fumbled for the bottle of extra strength aspirin he'd packed in his toiletry bag and shook out four. He chased them with a full glass of water. "Eeegh," he muttered as the water did nothing to dull the taste in his mouth. He spent considerable time cleaning his teeth and tongue until he felt almost human again. 

When he returned to the main sleeping area, he saw it was almost four o'clock. Deciding he could do with a proper sit-down meal, he called down to reserve a table, then went back to the shower to make himself presentable. He checked his reflection that his tie was properly tied, took the brush to his shoulders and sleeves of his jacket, then slipped the button through the buttonhole. It was not a new suit, not for several years, but it was in a classic style made from the best linen. Perfect for a day that was winding down from the heat of the afternoon. 

He arrived a few minutes early for his meal, using the time to review the menu. Even while he enjoyed the superb dinner, he couldn't help but think that a dinner companion was sorely missed. Ryanne's smile floated before his vision, and he vowed to finish up his time in Leeds by tomorrow night and be in Hull the day after. 

He retired early and was refreshed for his last day in Leeds, enjoying the Abbey immensely but his mind would not let the image of Ryanne go. He stopped at the train station to exchange his ticket before heading back to the hotel to check out. By early afternoon, he was on his way. It was only an hour trip, so once he was settled in his seat, he called the number Ryanne had programmed into his phone.

He held his breath as the phone picked up and he heard her voice answer. "Hello." 

"Hello, Ryanne. This is Nicolas…from the train?" he stated nervously, wondering belatedly if she'd forgotten him already. 

He felt a blush rise up his chest at her answer. "My butler, Nicolas. I knew you would call." 

"Did you now?" he demurred. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything too torrid." 

"If you find paperwork stimulating, then have I got something to shake you up," she replied teasingly. 

"It's utterly erotic," he murmured, glancing around to make sure no one was listening to him. "Don't you know butlers are renowned for their precision and orderliness? I live to organize." 

"Oh, I'll be a fright, then," she replied with a laugh. "I'm horribly disorganized. Do you still respect me?" 

He closed his eyes. "Always. I'm on my way to Hull now. In fact, I just passed Thome. Can you recommend a place to stay? This side trip is rather unexpected and I haven't made plans." 

She gave him an address and he scribbled it down quickly, lest he get distracted again. They flirted a bit more, agreed to meet for dinner, then he bid her goodbye. He scanned the paper he'd bought at the train station, looking for a nice restaurant for dinner. 1770 Wharf Street Kitchen sounded excellent, so he called and made a reservation. Arriving in Hull, he signaled for a taxi and gave him the address Ryanne provided to him. As the taxi pulled into a residential neighborhood, he frowned and confirmed the address. 

"Yessir," the driver stated. "This here be the place." The taxi stopped outside a row of flats and Hillary's heart started racing. This was not a hotel or a B&B. This was somebody's house – he'd stake his life that it was Ryanne's house. He cautiously approached the imposing green front door. He took a breath and rapped on the door. A heart-wrenching minute later, it opened revealing a beaming Ryanne.

"Surprise," she greeted him. 

"I didn't expect you to–" he blurted out, then resituated himself. "I can stay at a hotel. I didn't mean to imply anything." 

She looked him up and down frankly, cocking an eyebrow at him. "If you'd rather stay at a hotel, I won't stop you. But it would be much more convenient if you stayed here. Makes it easier to do this." 

With that pronouncement, she grabbed his hand, pulled him inside and kissed him. Swept up in the taste of her, the feel of her hands in his hair, he forgot propriety and gentlemanly behavior. As his hands worked their way under her shirt, she gently pushed him away. 

"Nicolas, your bags," she murmured between kisses. 

He didn't register her words at first, but then realized he'd left his bags on her porch. Distractedly he pulled them inside, firmly shut and locked the door, then returned to her embrace. 

They kissed as they stumbled through the living room, up the stairs to her bedroom. Hillary tripped as he toed off his shoes, catching himself before he dragged her down with him. She laughed and he joined in, taking in her flushed face and mussed hair. He was sure he looked in a similar state. 

"You are a delight, Nicholas," she said as she stroked his cheek. 

"You are a wonder," he replied in kind, his hands curving to hold her arse. "With a simply marvelous bottom." 

He started as her hands cupped his arse and pulled him against her. "I would say the same about you," she replied playfully. 

He growled low and bent to kiss her neck, sucking at the sweetness of her skin. He hissed as he felt her bite his neck, helplessly tightening his grip on her. It may have been a long time since he'd done this, but it only made him slow down and appreciate everything about Ryanne - the soft skin of her inner elbow, the dampness between her breasts, the shaking of her thighs as they gripped him tightly. She'd made him choke on a breath as she'd slipped the condom on with her mouth, a trick he hadn't had done to him before. He repaid her twice over – first with his fingers, causing her to climax quickly, then a slow build-up to an intense climax that left nail marks down his back. His arms were shaking as he finished, unable to hold himself back any longer. He carefully removed the used condom, then rolled to his side, facing Ryanne.

"Gorgeous," he murmured sleepily. He was not prone to falling asleep after sex, but something in her demeanor calmed him utterly. 

"Not so bad yourself," she replied breathlessly. She smoothed her hand lightly down his back and he couldn't contain his reaction. She struggled to peer over his shoulder. "I've hurt you."

"It's nothing," he assured her, pressing fully against her. "If you take a closer look, I've a few scars from my travels. I assure you, these will be the most pleasant scars I've had the pleasure to acquire." 

She frowned at him, clearly upset. "I should get some antiseptic." 

He gently tilted her face to his. "It is nothing." He kissed her eyelids. "I wouldn't care if I were bleeding." He kissed her nose. "Everything about you is a wonder, and that includes your enthusiasm." He sealed his mouth over hers, feeling her relent to him, then relax in his arms. He set about making her forget entirely, fingers deft and sure from reassembling guns and repairing delicate timepieces. 

He struggled not to close his eyes as her nails dug into his shoulders once again, determined to watch every exquisite detail as she fell apart from his touch. As she gasped for breath, his mouth followed the heave of her breasts, licking the sweat from the top swells and in-between, then sucking gently at her nipples. She pushed at his shoulder even as she arched into his touch. 

"Shit, please," she gasped. "I need a breather." 

"Stunning," he murmured into the skin of her shoulder, but removed his hand from between her legs. He could feel the faint trembling of her muscles as he traced up the back of her thigh, gently settling her on her back. "I could watch you all day and all night." 

She laughed breathlessly. "Keep that up and I'll let you." As the sweat cooled on their bodies, she traced along the faint scars on his torso and thigh. "May I ask what these are from?" 

He placed her hand over the scar on his left side. "Knife." He stroked their hands downward to his thigh. "Bullet." Lower still to his knee. "Akido." Back up to his shoulder. "Dislocated." 

Her eyes had widened at each curt explanation. When he stopped, she leant up and kissed each scar in turn, ending with a soft kiss to his mouth. "Such stories rolled up into a butler, Nicolas. You'll have to tell me over dinner." 

"We'd need more than one meal," he admonished gently, not entirely sure how much he should tell her. He shouldn't have been as open as he'd been as it was. Lara's safety was his top priority, and that included keeping secret her exploits and his role in them. "There are some things I cannot tell you," he admitted. "I won't betray the trust placed in me."

"Nor would I expect you to," Ryanne stated just as quietly. "You tell me whatever you're comfortable telling me and I'll be satisfied with that." She slipped out of bed and looked at him coyly. "Come now, we should shower and change for dinner. You are still taking me to dinner, aren't you?" 

He eyed her naked form in the late afternoon sun appreciatively. "I'll take you wherever you wish to go, my Lady," he said as he followed her into the shower. They managed to clean themselves without enticing much more horseplay, though lips were definitely engaged as skin was scrubbed clean. 

Hillary had to sneak downstairs in a towel for his suitcases and dressed quickly lest the neighbors glimpsed him through the partially open drapes. When he finished tying his shoes, he heard a faint step behind him. He stood quickly and assisted Ryanne down the last two steps. "You look stunning," he said, knowing he was lacking in synonyms, but she rendered him speechless. It was a simple dress and heels, but she wore them regally. 

"I'm not underdressed, am I?" she asked timidly, her insecurity tugging at his heart. 

"You're perfect," he insisted, kissing the back of her hand. "I'll call a taxi." 

Her confidence came back with a vengeance. "I'm capable of driving, you know." She picked up her purse and keys near the door. "I just need the name or address of the restaurant." 

He whined, "I wanted it to be a surprise," as he followed her out the door. At the look she gave him, he sighed. "1770 Wharf Street Kitchen." 

Her eyes widened slightly as she took his hand and gave it a squeeze. "You don’t have to butter me up, you know. I'm a sure thing." 

"You deserve to be pampered," he insisted as he held the car door for her. It felt awkward to be in the passenger seat as she drove them to dinner, but he shook it off quickly enough. After all, nothing about their meeting had been traditional, so why should dinner? As she pulled up to the valet, he stepped out and opened the door for her, circumventing the valet. He took the keys from her with a flourish and a wink, then passed them and a generous tip to the valet. He offered her his arm as the walked to the entrance. They had to wait but a moment for their table, secluded nicely away from the kitchen and private enough for conversation. 

They started the meal across from each other at the small table, but by the time dessert had been ordered, they were next to each other in the booth, murmuring teases and stolen brushes of lips on exposed skin. Her hand rested comfortably on his upper thigh, while his arm stretched low across her back to curl around her hip. It made eating difficult with only one hand free each, but they managed with small bites of the excellent dark chocolate delice. Even before the delice arrived, he could barely concentrate on her answers as the heat of her mouth teased him.

Throughout the meal, Hillary told her what he could of his past, starting with his enrollment in the army and his first bullet wound. She murmured understanding as he admitted to feeling lost after the structure of the army, which led him to butlering. He elaborated a bit on his meeting of Lara, which explained why he'd been stabbed in the side by a thief. He was circumspect around his exploits in Lara's employ, though he did allow that he was her training partner and the cause of the scar on his knee. He let Ryanne believe his dislocated shoulder was from a training accident, and it seemed to satisfy her. 

In turn, he asked more intimate details about her life. She was more forthcoming than he'd been, possibly from the wine, possibly because she occasionally nibbled on his ear as she whispered answers to him. They found themselves more or less on the same side of politics and music, though their taste in literature was far apart, him preferring classics and she loving mysteries. She had a green thumb and loved gardening, while he preferred potted plants that needed little care. Where he was organized and neat, she was carefree and unconcerned, as he'd witnessed by her well lived-in living room. 

By the time she murmured, "Pay the bill, Nicolas. I'll get the car," his blood was fired up and he was more than ready to leave. He tracked her every move as she slipped out of the booth and walked toward the entrance. With a quick nod to the waiter, he had the bill and counted out change. He took a steadying breath before sliding out of the booth and meeting her at the car. 

Before he could fasten his seat belt, her hand was stroking his inner thigh. "God," he breathed out, stopping her hand before she found what she was looking for. His voice was strangled as he gasped, "Not while you're driving. Please." 

She shot him a heated glance before pressing harder on the accelerator. "I'm going to throw you down on the bed and make you scream, Nicolas." 

He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing. It was difficult as behind his closed eyes he could see her naked form in the sunlight. "And here I was afraid you weren't interested," he joked lamely, trying to distract himself from the blood rushing through his body. Every part of him was tensed, anticipation having built up over the evening. He felt seventeen again, not the nearly 36 he was. 

In minutes, she pulled up to the flat and parked, securing the parking brake before diving for his lips. He was grateful for that distraction as her hand cupped him through his trousers, drawing a strangled moan that her mouth muffled. He retaliated by palming her breast, finding her nipple hard even through her bra. They would have continued making out if his sixth sense of being watched hadn't tickled the hairs on the back of his neck. 

He gentled the kiss and dragged her hand away from his aching erection. "Your neighbors," he murmured apologetically at her disappointed groan. "We're being watched." 

"Bollocks," she hissed and settled back in her seat. She glanced in the rear view mirror, quickly smoothing her hair. "You've got two minutes to meet me upstairs before I rip your clothes off, Nicolas, neighbors or no." Without looking at him, she exited the car. Not even a heartbeat later, he followed her, walking carefully. 

She didn't look back as she unlocked the door, but headed straight upstairs. He had the presence of mind to lock up, but with each step his brain seemed to shut down a little bit more, his baser instincts taking over. 

She didn't disappoint – he'd barely gotten in the bedroom before she removed his belt with a flourish, undid his button and zip, and had trousers and underwear around his ankles in seconds. She turned him and pushed him down to the bed, completing the removal of his pants and shoes, leaving him bare from the waist down. 

Before he could reach for her, she'd pulled her dress over her head and straddled his waist. She resumed kissing him, leaving him gasping as she reached around and stroked him to full hardness. He didn't know where she'd gotten the condom, and right then didn't bloody care. She was keeping to her promise to make him scream, as he very nearly did. 

He repaid her in kind, drowning in the taste and musky smell of her as he nestled between her thighs. While she was still trembling, he kissed up her stomach as his fingers slid into her. She immediately climaxed again, clenching around his fingers and scratching at his shoulders. 

"Enough! God, enough," she gasped as he allowed her to come down. 

He dropped his head next to hers on the pillow, their harsh breathing loud in the stillness. His hand skated over the slick skin of her belly, wanting to maintain that connection a little longer. Sleep was tugging at him ferociously, but he forced his eyes open. 

She groaned lightly as her hand trailed over his shoulder. "I've hurt you again." 

"Didn't notice," he murmured, pressing his mouth against her neck. Her heady scent and their frenzied lovemaking had made him insensate. His eyes closed as her fingers threaded through his damp, curly hair. 

They both fell into an exhausted sleep, too spent to even pull up the covers properly.


	3. Morning Ritual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trained as his body and mind were, Hillary woke before sunrise. Instead of his usual ritual of exercise, bath, dress and rounds of the manor, he looked his fill of Ryanne asleep.

Trained as his body and mind were, he woke before sunrise. Instead of his usual ritual of exercise, bath, dress and rounds of the manor, he looked his fill of Ryanne asleep. Guilt began to dance at the edge of his conscience. He hadn't asked if she was expected at work or if she had other responsibilities that needed tending to. He was on holiday and could afford to laze about. 

Trusting that she had set an alarm or had an internal 'clock' like he did, he slipped out of bed, careful not to jostle her awake. He began to gather up his clothes, carefully picking up the used condoms and tossing them in the bin. He located her dress and draped it over the closet door, making a mental note to ask her for an iron to smooth out the wrinkles. 

As desperately as he wanted a shower, he didn't want to wake her just yet. He stepped silently to the toilet and completed some of his morning ablutions, then pulled on his trousers and undershirt from last night and crept downstairs. He hadn't had a chance to really see her flat, having been dragged – most pleasantly – to her bedroom first thing. His inner organizer bemoaned the untidy stacks of papers that littered most of the surfaces, though he was surprised at the lack of dust on the bookcases. Floor to ceiling, one wall was dedicated to housing books and trinkets. True to her word, most of the books were mysteries: from Doyle to Chandler, Deaver to Silva. 

He tapped his fingers nervously against his leg. He was used to practicing with Lara in the early mornings, or taking her tea after her morning ride. He hadn't expected to feel so restless four days into his holiday. He should have been tired, but he felt energized, not unlike after a sparring match with Lara. His mouth curled up in a wry grin. Was it the exercise or the spirited women that made his blood sing? Perhaps a bit of both. 

He debated on cooking breakfast to give him something to do, but he didn't know if Ryanne ate breakfast or what her preferences were. He was also uncomfortable riffling through her kitchen for tea. With a slight frown at his lack of information, he relegated himself to his other morning ritual: exercise. Finding a clear space on the floor, he began with push-ups. It was his preferred way to start his exercise routine; they allowed his mind to clear as he focused on the rhythm of his form and his breathing. 

Just as he was getting out of breath, he sensed that he was being watched. He strained to do the last two, then let his knees drop to the floor. He sat back and rested his hands on his thighs, quietly gathering his breath. He turned his head to see Ryanne and what breath he'd regained caught in his chest. She was wearing his button down shirt from the night before, except only one button was fastened.

"That'll get the blood pumping," he remarked as he pushed himself to stand. 

She smirked. "What, this old thing?" she asked as she ran her fingers along her very exposed cleavage. "I found it draped over a chair." She walked toward him and slid her hands up his chest to rest on his shoulders. "Didn't you get enough of a workout yesterday?" 

His hands automatically came to rest on her waist, drawing her closer. "Entirely different muscle group," he informed her with a small smile. "I would have made you breakfast in bed, but I didn't want to intrude anymore than I have already," he added casually. 

"You are _not_ intruding," she admonished him with a slight push to his shoulders for emphasis. "You are my guest for as long as you want." Her expression turned rueful. "Though I will need to kick you out this afternoon, as I have several appointments..."

He interrupted her with a soft brush of his lips against hers. "No need to say anything further. I'm sure there are things to see and do, even in Hull," he teased lightly. 

She swatted his arm. "For that remark, you can bring me breakfast in bed, _Hillary_ : toast with grape jam, black coffee and some fruit." 

He let his eyes twinkle at her. "Of course, my Lady," he demurred, giving her arse a pat as she turned toward the kitchen. 

They prepared breakfast in the tiny kitchen, creating an intimate dance as they shifted to get at the butter or locate two coffee mugs. He arranged their breakfast on a tray and followed a giggling Ryanne up the stairs. He heard her flop into bed before he reached the top. He schooled his features into proper nonchalance before entering the bedroom, but even so, seeing Ryanne posed deliciously against the sheets gave him pause. He wouldn't have thought it possible, having seen Lara in all manner of undress, that the sight of a partially naked woman in bed would affect him. But affect him Ryanne did, though he didn't think she picked up on it. He settled next to her in bed, balancing the tray on his lap as she reached for the toast. 

He'd only known Ryanne a little over a day, and theirs was an understood holiday liaison; nothing more. He would enjoy her company for as long as she allowed him, then they would go their separate ways. It was the proper thing to do. So why was he so comfortable in her bed, sharing breakfast as though they'd done it a hundred times? Why did it feel so natural when she rested her head on his shoulder and talked about her upcoming day? 

Even as she chided him for doing the washing up, her arms slipped around his waist and her lips pressed to the side of his neck in thanks. The coffee mug he'd been cleaning clattered back into the sink as he dropped it, startled at the force of his reaction to her touch. An image of her poised at the edge of the counter with her head thrown back in pleasure, her thighs gripping his waist as he lost himself in her, consumed him. 

He turned in her arms and captured her mouth in a deep kiss, his hand immediately slipping between her thighs to see if she was ready for him. 

With a groan that was plainly not of pleasure, Ryanne broke away from him and stayed his hand with a firm grip on his wrist. "Nicholas, I can't. I have to get ready for work." She offered him a consolatory kiss and regretful look before she left the kitchen and headed back upstairs. 

He sagged against the counter and scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to regain control. What was wrong with him? He wasn't some randy teenager controlled by his hormones; he was more disciplined than that. He felt decidedly out of sorts, so he spent his first outing into Hull deep in thought, wondering what it was about Ryanne that left him feeling that way. 

She was an accomplished woman who knew her own mind; he admired that. It was something she and Lara had in common. She was headstrong, unorganized, undisciplined and spontaneous, also not unlike Lara. However, while he noticed and admired Lara's womanly features, his heart didn't race, his palms didn't sweat, and he certainly didn't get hard thinking about Lara. 

Was it merely the newness of it all? It had been some time since he'd had sexual relations with a woman, though surely that wouldn't account for his abnormal behaviour. He'd gone without for much longer periods and it never affected him this oddly. As he walked along the riverside, a revelation so startling, so radical, popped into his head and stopped him in his tracks: love. He chuckled; the idea of falling in love so soon after a first meeting was preposterous. Love was nurtured over time, developed slowly and steadily by mutual likes and tastes. Love was not stumbled into on a moving train and one incredible night of passion.

He shoved the notion aside as absurd and thought no more of it, instead grounding himself in Hull's museum artifacts.


	4. Something Undefined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hillary contemplates his situation with Ryanne while cooking dinner for her - an apology for his behavior the previous morning.

When Ryanne texted him that she was nearly finished at the office, he texted back that he would cook dinner for her. It was the least he could do as an apology for his behaviour that morning. He bought a salmon and vegetables at the outdoor market, then selected a fresh apple pie that smelled delicious. 

He often cooked for himself and Bryce when Lara was out of the manor, not wanting to bother Henry with preparing meals just for them. Unfortunately, Hillary's considerable skills did not extend into the preparation of dessert, as Bryce had mournfully bewailed the burnt pudding, lopsided cakes and sugarless cherry tarts that Hillary had thrust upon him. Having learnt his lesson, Hillary stuck to the main dinner while Bryce surprised him that his sweet tooth translated into rather splendid shortcakes and clafoutis. 

Confident that Ryanne's kitchen have would whatever other ingredients he needed, Hillary took a taxi back to her flat, grateful to see her car out front. He shooed her out of the kitchen, insisting on doing everything himself. After her initial instructions on where everything was, Ryanne left him alone. He lost himself in the preparation, going through familiar motions even though the setting was different. With a few minutes left on the fish, he located plates and silverware and intended to set the table, but Ryanne blocked his way.

Before he could protest, she plucked the plates from his hands and with a raised eyebrow, stated, "You keep an eye on the fish. I'll set the table. Get the wine glasses from the top shelf, would you?" 

He closed his mouth before he could smartly retort. He spun on his heel and retreated to the kitchen, retrieving the glasses. Before he had even fully turned around, Ryanne again took the items from his hands. 

"I am fully capable of multitasking," he said, amused by her forthrightness. 

She eyed his body appreciatively. "Of that I have no doubt, Nicholas, but I'm still setting the table. You'll need both hands for the food." 

A little unsettled – and a little turned on – at her frank assessment of him, he forced his mind back to cooking. His mood sobered considerably as he recalled the reason for his preparing the meal. Disquieted, he arranged everything on a serving platter and presented it with a flourish to distract himself. 

As Ryanne poured the wine, he cleared his throat. "I'd like to apologize for my behaviour this morning. I knew you had to get to work, yet I acted irresponsibly and boorishly. I have no excuse and can only offer my sincere apologies." 

She didn't answer him right away, swirling the wine in her glass and taking a sip before regarding him coolly. "Thank you for that. Another time I might not have minded your enthusiasm, but I had expressly told you I needed to go into work today." 

He flushed in embarrassment. "I know, and I'm…"

She raised her hand to forestall his second apology. "I accept your apology, Nicholas; there's no need to apologize again." She took another sip, then ran her thumb down the stem of the glass. "I'd like to say something, too. I'm not usually like this." She lifted her eyes briefly to his, their depths unreadable, then looked down at the table again. "I don't chat up strange men on trains and then invite them back to my flat to stay over. I don't sleep with men on the first date, and especially not before the first date." She did meet his gaze then, something bright and undefined shining from her eyes. "I don't know what makes you different, Nicholas, but I don't have any of my normal reservations around you." 

It was as if she'd read his mind. His voice was slightly strangled as he replied, "I feel the same way about you. I spent a good deal of time walking along the river today, trying to figure out why." 

"Did you discover anything?" Her wide eyes met his, lit with hope at uncovering the mystery of how the two of them could be so comfortable around each other after only a short time. 

He couldn't hold her earnest gaze, so took to staring down at his plate. "No," he stated simply, refusing to voice his absurd idea about love. 

The silence that fell over them wasn’t wholly comfortable and Hillary was acutely aware that his actions were the cause. She'd accepted his apology; there really wasn't anything further he could say or do to alleviate the awkwardness. He could only try to get them past it. "Never mind that, now," he said quietly. "Let's just enjoy our dinner before it gets cold." 

He hesitated in picking up his silverware until Ryanne started to eat. As they made innocuous small talk, Hillary couldn't help but think that they were moving too fast. If he'd only insisted on getting a hotel room, he wouldn’t be in the quandary he found himself. Sleeping on the couch hadn't even registered as an option – what did that say about his supposed gentlemanly behaviour? It was time he rectified his imposition, whether Ryanne saw it as such or not. 

He was organizing his thoughts as he retrieved the pie from the kitchen and cut into it. 

"This is a disappointment," she mused with a slight pout as Hillary placed a slice in front of her. 

"Is something wrong with it?" he asked as he sat back down. He inspected the slice in front of him, but could see nothing wrong with the flaky crust or the thick apples sliding out the sides. 

"Here I thought you were the absolute perfect man, and yet you're serving a store bought pie." Her eyes twinkled at him, signaling to him that all had been forgiven, but he couldn't forgive himself just yet.

He deflected quietly, "I'm hardly perfect." He continued before she could comment, "I think it best if I sleep on the couch, or even take a room at a hotel. I've presumed far too much about you and your life and no matter what you say, I _am_ intruding." 

He glimpsed hurt and disappointment in her expression before she was able to mask it with annoyance. "Your presumptions are incorrect. I invited you to my home to stay, Nicolas. If I didn't want you here, you wouldn't be here; it's as simple as that. If what happened this morning is colouring your judgment, then let me be the judge of your character." She placed her elbows on the table and fixed him with a stern look. 

"You work eighteen-hour days caring for everyone but yourself. You had to be kicked out of the Manor just go on this holiday, and now you're trying to sabotage our time together by insisting that you aren't a gentlemen." He opened his mouth to interrupt but she glared at him. "I'm telling you now, Nicolas Hillary, you are far more a gentlemen that any man I've ever met. If you still feel the need to stay out of my bed from some sense of propriety, then I'll fix up the couch for you." 

His immediate sense of relief was overrun by stirrings of arousal as she leaned forward. He was absolutely captivated by her: the fire snapping in her eyes, the way the light danced in her hair, and the vehemence in her tone that brooked no argument. "I'm giving you fair warning: when I want us to have sex, I will come down those stairs and I will seduce you." 

"Yes, ma'am," he breathed, replying automatically to the forcefulness of her tone. He steadied himself as she sat back in her chair and cut off a slice of the pie. Her every move was sensual as she wrapped her lips around the fork, then licked the juice from the tines. 

It took him a moment to register that she was still speaking. "Also, I'll be doing the washing up. You’ve done enough, Nicholas," she murmured in a deceptively soft voice. 

Thankfully, she didn't seem to require a response, as his brain cells appeared to have abandoned him. He watched her take another bite, his eyes tracking the tip of her tongue as it licked crumbs from her lips. Giving himself a shake, Hillary focused on his own slice of pie and tried not to be distracted further by Ryanne. 

True to her word, Ryanne brought out sheets and a pillow for the couch before retreating to the kitchen. A stab of something undefined tightened in his chest as he stared at the folded bedding and he rubbed his shirt absently, hoping to dispel the ache beneath his hand. 

Without any personal reading material – he'd forgotten twice now to check at the train station – he drifted over to the bookcase. He selected a hardback at random and retreated to the couch. Moving the bedding to the table, he thumbed open the book and became engrossed in the story. 

At the discovery of the brutally murdered body, Ryanne's hands slid down his chest. Continuing to read, he rubbed at her arm across his chest, squeezing her hand lightly. 

Her mouth pressed against his neck, her warm breath tickling his skin. "Come to bed when you're done," she murmured. "I don't have to be at work until nine." 

He nodded slowly, eyes frantically skimming the page to see if he could find a clue to the murderer. It wasn't until he needed to turn on the light to continue reading that he realized that it was much later, he was nearly 3/4 of the way through the novel, and he'd agreed to meet Ryanne in her bed again. The book fell to his lap as his head dropped to the back of the couch, staring at the shadows on the ceiling. 

Did he abide by her instructions that if she wanted sex, she'd come downstairs and seduce him? Or had he been seduced already and she was waiting for him upstairs? As his body warmed to the idea, he frowned in annoyance. He'd made a mess of things only that morning, and he _wasn't_ going to climb those stairs, even if he'd been invited.

Marking his place with a scrap of paper, he unfolded himself from the couch and opened his suitcase, looking for his pajamas. True, they hadn't had much use so far on this trip, but he was determined to stay focused and stay on the couch.

That night, at least. 

He quickly changed and made up the couch, settling onto it with a contented sigh. A good night's sleep was just what the butler ordered: no pub crawls, no strenuous sexual activity, just a nice, relaxing lie-in. 

An hour later, he was still trying to convince himself of that. Giving up, he turned on the light next to the couch, retrieved the book from the table and continued reading. Maybe a good murder would take his mind off the mysterious Ryanne Byrne. 

=-=-=-=-=

The smell of brewing coffee brought him out of sleep. Pushing himself upright, he rubbed at his cheek and yawned. He blinked in confusion at his surroundings, only placing that he was in Ryanne's living room when she walked in with two steaming mugs. 

"Hey, sleepyhead," she greeted him as she held out one of the mugs. "Tea with one sugar, right?" 

"Cheers," he murmured, frowning down at the fragrant brew. "How did you know I took one sugar?" 

A lovely shade of pink highlighted her cheeks. "I paid attention when you made up breakfast yesterday. I love watching your hands." 

He flexed his free hand, not seeing anything impressive or watch-worthy about it. As he looked up, intending to ask her more about it, he saw her watching his hands while she drank her coffee. Bemused, he brought the mug to his lips and took a sip, unable to keep his mouth from curving up in a smirk. 

"Oh, don't look so smug," she chided him. "I saw you transfixed on my apparent skill at eating apple pie last night." 

All bemusement fled as he recalled her seductive, heavy gaze. "Eating is inherently more sensual than hands," he said to distract himself from his thoughts. He was used to having a few minutes to himself after waking, before being needed around the Manor. Engaging in conversation so early was clearly taxing him. "Are you off to work?" he asked, seeing that she was dressed already. 

The corners of her mouth turned down the slightest bit. "Yes. I'll be there most of the day. You're welcome to stay and finish reading, or just relax. This is supposed to be a holiday for you, after all."

He couldn't help but feel he'd disappointed her in some way. He went over the events of the previous evening, their dinner conversation, and then his absorption in the novel. Her arms came around him…he sat up straight. "I'm sorry," he blurted out. "I was up late reading and must have fallen asleep." He looked around and located the book on the floor. "I didn't expect to get so caught up in it. I can see why you like mysteries." 

She was staring down at the coffee mug between her hands, so he couldn't read her expression. "Is that your excuse for not meeting me in bed last night?" When she looked up, he saw the twinkle in her eyes and breathed easier. "I'll forgive you this time, but tonight, Nicholas, I will seduce you and I won't take no for an answer. Or be usurped by Silva." 

He chuckled, but his thoughts was swirling as fast as his emotions. He wanted to sleep with her again. His gentlemanly morals seemed to be fading the longer he was in her presence. "I look forward to it," he assured her, his voice deepening with an undercurrent of desire.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Good," she declared as she stood up, then raked her gaze over him, sending pleasant tingles throughout his body, waking it fully. "There is no doubt that you're a butler; those pajamas certainly fit the part." 

He glanced down at his dark, striped shirt and matching pants. "What's wrong with them?"

"Absolutely nothing," she said breezily as she walked out of the room. "If you're an over-fifty, stuffy butler catering to an even stuffier, older, noble class." 

He ought to be offended, but he joined her in laughter that he could hear coming down the hallway. Perhaps it was time for new sleepwear. Shopping wouldn't go amiss for the day, and he could pick up something for the Manor while he was out. He liked to change out the knickknacks in the study once a month, and it had been some time since he'd been able to do some non-essential shopping. 

He gathered his things for a shower, meeting Ryanne as she was coming back down the stairs. With a parting, lingering kiss, she trailed her hand over his shoulder as she left the flat. He turned to watch her go, feeling that stab of something undefined tightening his chest again.


	5. It Must Have Been

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hillary's introspection doesn't give him any answers, but he stumbles into one that leaves him defenseless around Ryanne.

He took a cab into the city proper and did some more sightseeing, popping into curiosity shops along the way. He took his time perusing the stores, looking for that special something to brighten the study shelves. He bought a few trinkets, making small talk with the owners and customers alike as he unwound from the stresses he'd placed on himself. 

Ryanne had been right the night before: he was often too hard on himself, but it was part of his character. It wasn't something he could easily change, nor did he want to. He liked himself just fine. He even liked his life – though he could do with less people shooting at him or threatening to remove a piece of his flesh as incentive for Lara. 

He turned over a small, carved figure of an elephant in his palm, studying the intricate lines. Perhaps as Lara matured, she would learn to settle down and not take so many risks. He startled the other patrons in the shop as he burst into laughter at the absurd notion of Lara Croft not taking risks. That was like asking the rivers to stop flowing or the Earth to stop turning. He purchased the elephant and left the shop, still grinning. 

Just after lunch, he found a vase that looked similar to one that had been destroyed two years ago. An invasion of the Manor to steal a map that Lara had acquired had been thwarted, but the damage to the study had taken the better part of three months to repair. Blood stains were murder to get out of carpeting, but he'd loved that particular rug and had been determined to salvage it. The vase, however, had been reduced to dust. It wasn't particularly valuable, but it had a striking pattern and he'd been saddened to sweep up its remnants. 

He waited patiently while the shopkeep wrapped the vase in protective paper. So many of Lara's things had been destroyed or lost over the years. She'd come to accept the loss of her father after the Illuminati Triangle, but that didn't make up for the years that she'd suffered without him. Hillary had done what he could: he'd made sure her schedule was always clear on May 15, he'd listened as she'd talked quietly of things her father had taught her; he'd brought her Scotch and stood in silent commiseration when she'd stared moodily into the unlit fireplace. Replacing the vase was just the latest modicum of normalcy he could offer. Even if she never acknowledged his little touches, Hillary knew Lara appreciated them. 

He took the package with a warm thank you, then headed back onto the street. Out in the sunshine, his thoughts turned from Lara back to his holiday, and Ryanne. If he was to stay at Ryanne's for the remainder of the week, then he should apply his thoughtfulness to thanking her in little ways, and not necessarily of the sexual variety. She was a woman with simple tastes, so nothing extravagant. He was lost in thought as he continued walking, sidestepping automatically as he came upon someone passing the opposite way. 

He breathed deeply as he passed a flower cart, the wonderful fragrance of fresh flowers triggering his memory of Ryanne's love of gardening. He turned back and chatted with the seller about different flowering plants, explaining what he could about Ryanne's tastes. After much back and forth, he decided on an assortment of violets. 

Inspired by the flowers, Hillary begged the man to keep them for him while he pulled together the rest of his surprise – a picnic on the living room floor. He located a wine shop and selected a similar flavor to the one they shared the night before, assuming it was her preferred taste. The next purchases were cheese, fruit, bread, olives and thin slices of Prosciutto. Finally, he returned to the flower cart and picked up the violets.

Laden with his purchases, he got a cab to return to her flat. Ryanne wasn't home yet, but she'd left him a spare key that morning atop his suitcase, along with a note: _'You'd get one if you were at a B &B, so no reason not to feel you can come and go as you please. Remember to _enjoy _yourself._ ' 

He could feel eyes on him as he opened her door. He needed to talk with Ryanne about her neighbors; if she'd be uneasy in them knowing about him staying there for a few days. It didn't bother him per se, but he was trained to be alert for danger. He couldn't shake his basic instincts to protect and eliminate the threat, even if that threat was mere gossip. 

The first thing he did after setting down his purchases was to make sure all the downstairs curtains were securely closed. His plans for that evening didn't involve nosy neighbors trying to peer through slits. 

Unsure what time Ryanne would be home, he placed the wine, cheese and meat in the refrigerator. He set out wine glasses, utensils, plates and napkins on the table, but a picnic required a blanket. Hesitantly, he checked the hall closet but didn't see any type of bedding. Ryanne had to have gotten his bedding from somewhere, so feeling like a teenager looking for his dad's skin mags, he searched through her wardrobe, finally locating a suitable blanket in the bottom drawer. 

He surveyed the living room floor, his mind calculating the optimum location for the blanket and two people. Anticipation thrummed along his nerve endings as he pictured them spread out on the floor, limbs tangled as clothing was slowly removed. He'd denied himself the night before, but he ached to taste her again; to feel her beneath him, to hear her gasps of pleasure and to feel her nails digging into his shoulders. He shifted his hips as desire pooled low in his gut and lower still, awakening his erection. 

He busied himself with spreading the blanket and setting out the plates and utensils. Presumptuous but practical, he located the box of condoms on her dresser and placed a few foil packs under the corner of the blanket, within easy reach. 

It was nearly three o'clock and still no word from Ryanne on when she would be home. He washed the fruit and sliced the bread, setting each in different bowls to busy himself, but it still wasn't enough to occupy his mind. He didn't want to start another book and he wasn't much of a television watcher. As his eyes traversed the bookshelves a third time, he located a small radio and flicked it on. Unsurprising, the smooth tones of Gladys Knight drifted from the unit; Ryanne's musical taste ran to the R&B and soul of the 60s. Deeming it suitable for the mood he wanted to create, he turned it down until the voice was a sultry murmur, so it would be felt rather than heard. 

He was restless in his own skin, anticipation growing along with nerves. As he glanced at the clock and saw only eight minutes had passed, a sigh slipped from his lips. Resigned to waiting, he opted to change from his day of shopping. He selected a blue t-shirt and jeans, then climbed the stairs to the shower. 

The tepid water helped to cool his lust. He didn't want to jump Ryanne the second she walked in the door, after all; he wanted to seduce her, drawing out their mutual desire as long as possible. He let his head drop forward as his hands pushed at the tiles, water beating rhythmically down on the back of his neck. His dick was already half-hard just thinking about Ryanne. What would actually kissing her; stroking her skin, licking the sweat off her body…

A soft moan echoed against the tiles as his hand wrapped around his erection, stroking it to full hardness. He gave himself over to the need burning in his veins, imagining it was her heat he was thrusting into. He licked his lips, tasting the soap that lingered on her skin and pulled faster, harder; wanting desperately to be buried inside her. He was groaning with each shuddering exhale, punishing his body as he drove it to orgasm. Flashes of her in the throes of passion; the darkening of her eyes, the pain radiating from her nails digging into his shoulders as she climaxed, more exquisite than the soft kiss she'd placed on the tip of his erection before sliding the condom down. Muscles straining as he raced her to climax, thrusting hard as she clamped down on him and called his name. The need to keep touching her even after they separated…

"God….love…" he groaned as he came over his fist, splattering the tiles as his knees weakened with the force of his climax. The wall held him up as the last shudders ripped through his body, the water immediately washing away the sticky evidence. 

The tiles were cool against the overheated skin of his cheek. He rolled his neck until his forehead touched the tiles, cooling the skin there. He was still panting harshly, his heart beating triple-time as his body came down from the powerful high. The water pounding his back felt like sledgehammers against his skin, nerve endings frayed even there. He fumbled behind him until he located the handle to shut off the water. 

He stay slumped against the wall until his breathing steadied and his heartbeat calmed to normal; the only sound the slow drip of the showerhead. His gaze was on the tiles in front of him, but he didn't see them, instead he was focused inward at what he'd said as he came. 

_Love_. 

As his chest seized with that undefined something he'd felt before, he _knew_. He hadn't meant it as a term of endearment, and there was no denying that he'd _meant it_ , even lost in pleasure as he'd been. 

It was absolutely, wholly insane. He'd known Ryanne less than a week; less than _four days_. How could he love someone he barely knew? But he knew her better than he thought he did. He despised lying to himself and that was exactly what he was doing, trying to make excuses or reasons why it couldn't be love. But as his chest ached again, and his breath stuttered, and his blood raced, he knew that's what it had to be. 

"Shit." It was both statement and curse, faint and terrified, wondrous and exhilarating. 

He was in love with Ryanne Byrne. 

Muscles twitched as he pushed himself out of the shower and dried himself off. He dressed slowly, his mind still focused on processing the life-changing revelation. 

The sound of the front door opening and a surprised exclamation dragged him out of his thoughts; Ryanne was home. 

"My dear Nicolas, where are you?" she called, her voice filled with childish delight. 

He closed his eyes briefly, willing himself back to his impassive work face, his polite yet distant demeanor, so she wouldn't see. He _couldn't_ let her see. He was due back at the Manor in three days; she _couldn't_ know he'd fallen in love with her. It was an impossible situation and he wouldn't put her in the uncomfortable position of not knowing what to say to him. 

When she found him standing in her bedroom a moment later, he had a slight smile on his face and barriers firmly clamped around his heart. 

Her dazzling smile fell as she studied him. "What's wrong? What's happened?" she asked as she rested her hands on his chest. 

Such a light touch, yet it seared his skin beneath the cotton. He covered her hands with his, giving them a gentle squeeze. "Nothing's wrong," he lied smooth as silk, brushing a strand of hair back from her face. "I was just hoping to be downstairs when you got home. Now your surprise is ruined." 

Her eyes narrowed at him and she didn't look convinced. "Are you sure that's all? You seem…distant." 

His heart thudding dully, he leaned down and kissed her softly, holding tight to his feelings so they didn't filter through. He murmured against her lips, "Everything's fine. Why don't you relax and I'll finish setting up downstairs? I think I left some hot water for you." 

He could feel her worried gaze on his back as he slunk down the stairs, hating himself more with each step.

=-=-=-=-=

He went through the motions of setting out the food and pouring the wine, all the while wondering how the hell he was going to keep it from her. He knew, without a shred of doubt, that his poker face was impeccable. With the company Lara kept – or battled against – he'd learned to be a master of the impassive expression, neither interested nor concerned. It had saved his life on more than one occasion, and it had helped Lara when it came to delicate negotiations. 

So how was it that Ryanne saw right through him? 

As his hand rested over the condoms beneath the edge of the blanket, he sensed Ryanne coming down the stairs. As he twisted to look at her, his stomach did a slow flip. 

She was wearing a thin summer dress that clung to her skin where it was still damp. She had a towel in one hand, rubbing at her wet hair. Her eyes were fixed on him; a steady, sure gaze that he had to look away from. 

"You look gorgeous," he breathed, his heart tripping madly. 

Her voice was deceptively soft, yet her anger shone clear through. "So gorgeous you can't stand to look at me?" 

He swallowed as she sat next to him, his gaze drawn to her legs stretched out along the blanket. 

"You were so calm this morning; relaxed in a way I haven't seen you. Now you're tense as a wire but trying not to show it. _Something's_ happened. Why can't you tell me?" Her touch to his arm was hot like a brand, and he couldn't control his sharp intake of breath. 

He sensed a change in her mood and looked over, shocked to see her eyes filled with tears. "I see. It's something I've done." 

"No!" he cried, clasping her upper arms before pulling her into a hug. "You've done _nothing_ wrong. Nothing," he said into her hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. He didn't think he could hate himself more; he was wrong. He pulled back, staring into her eyes. He flinched at the hurt he found there and discovered he would do anything to alleviate it. Even if it meant telling her a bit of the truth. 

"Ryanne," he said quietly, taking her hands in his. He stared down at their hands, rubbing his thumbs over her skin. "You know I'm only on holiday a few more days. After that, I go back to the Manor. Back to my life." 

"I understood that when I gave you my number on the train," she answered, voice tinged with confusion. "I haven't asked for more than you're willing to give, have I?"

He shook his head, the lump in his throat too big to speak around. He risked a glance at her face, seeing her studying him. The warmth that spread through him caused him to release a shaky breath. 

Surprise registered in her expression. "You're scared," she murmured, reaching up to touch his cheek. 

He shivered and tried to lie, "I don't know what…" before swallowing again. He couldn't lie to her open, honest face. "It's nothing to do with you," he insisted, which was mostly the truth. He was in love with her through no fault of her own – other than being irresistibly magnificent. 

Her strength shouldn't have surprised him, but she caught him off-guard. The hand on his cheek slipped behind his neck and he was yanked forward, mouths slanted together as she practically devoured him. Any thoughts to pushing her away were obliterated as her tongue pressed against his teeth, her assault shattering the barrier he'd constructed less than a half hour ago. He curled his arms around her, pulling her in tight as he matched her desperation; her enthusiasm; her need. He felt hot tears sting his eyes as he kissed her with abandon, pouring everything he was, everything he could be, into her. 

They fell to the carpet, still wrapped around each other and narrowly missing the plates of food. He soaked up her essence, one hand tangled in her still-wet hair, the other pushing up her dress as he slid it up her outer thigh. He felt one of her hands gripping his ass, the other still holding the back of his neck, anchoring him in place. He whimpered as she arched her body upward, his erection a steel rod against her stomach. 

Gasping for breath, he released her mouth only to drop his head to her throat, sucking at her sweet skin. Her hands tangled in his hair, pushing him down, her throaty moans begging him to continue down her body. 

"I want to worship you," he muttered into her slick skin, the taste of soap and sweat making him dizzy. He nuzzled between her breasts, wetting the thin material of the dress as he tongued and mouthed at her hidden skin. "Have to taste you." Twin fists tugged his hair and he went willingly, blindly, sealing his mouth over hers again. 

His fingertips dug into the flesh of her ass, lifting her bodily as he thrust against her, cursing the material that was still between them. She moaned into the kiss, her hands tightening in his hair and he thrust again, adding a roll to his hips that had her biting his lip. 

"Fuck, Nicholas," she panted, rubbing her hips up and down, driving him wild. "Harder. Hard-" she broke off in a moan as he complied, struggling to keep his arousal in check as she bucked against him in her first climax. 

As she trembled beneath him, he raised himself up and quickly shoved his jeans and boxers down to his feet, then kicked them off. He fumbled blindly for the condoms, getting his fingers on one and tearing open the foil, rolling it on quickly. He grasped the bunched up dress around her waist and tugged it upward, Ryanne arching beneath him to assist until it was over her head and flung away. His mouth dove for her neck as his fingers undid the clasp on her bra, then trailed down to her underwear. She slid her legs up the outside of his thighs, dragging a moan from deep within him as he maneuvered her underwear off one leg. He paused to look down at her heavy-lidded gaze, face soft with satisfaction yet hungry for more, and felt his heart clench. 

"It's okay," she whispered, her hand touching his arm lightly. "I know. It's okay." 

"I love you." Once the words were in the air, they lost their hold over him, and Hillary wondered why he'd been afraid. He settled over her, kissing the tears now falling from her eyes. 

"I love you, too," she admitted with a beatific smile, kissing him tenderly. "Make love to me," she murmured as her hands smoothed down his back, dragging his t-shirt up to his shoulders. 

He removed the last barrier between them and flung it behind him, not caring where the shirt landed. As he leaned down on one hand, the fingers of his other hand stroked her entrance, slick and hot and ready for him. 

"Don't tease," she groaned, clutching his shoulders as her legs wrapped around the backs of his legs, drawing him to her. He went unresisting, kissing his way up her stomach, flicking his tongue on her hard nipples, then licking up her neck as he slid into her. He stifled her loud gasp with his mouth just in time, then groaned helplessly as her entire body tightened around him. 

His hips jerked as her nails raked down his back to dig into his ass, causing him to thrust hard into her. His choked-off moan merged with hers, and he used every bit of self control he had not to come. As he rested his head next to hers, panting heavily, he heard her smug, breathless voice in his ear. 

"That's for trying to lie to me." 

He was lying fully atop her, his arms shaking as he braced himself as best he could and rolled his hips upward. He'd hit her sweet spot; he could tell by the shaking of her body and the way she tightened around him again. 

"N-not fair," she stuttered as she rubbed her feet up the back of his legs and stroked her palms across his shoulders. 

He leveraged himself up on his elbows to see her flushed face. He angled down to give her a slow, deep kiss, careful not to move his hips too much. Every inch of him felt like it was on fire, yet he was never more content. "I'm sorry," he murmured, then rolled his hips again, slow and deep. Never had it been more important that he stay in control. He counted out his movements in his head, just as he did for akido or push-ups. Steady and even, two and three, keeping focused on the mechanics of the movements and ignoring the sensory inputs from his body. 

Ryanne was quickly coming apart beneath him, her skin shiny with sweat, her eyes darkening as half-moans fell from her parted lips. 

Every muscle screamed at him to finish; to drive in deep and fast and hard, but his head was in control and he refused to allow himself to come just yet. Ryanne was trembling, the look in her eyes wild and unfocused as she writhed beneath him. Her hands were like claws on his upper arms, anchoring them both as he tipped her over the edge. He thrust deeply, angling himself to capture her mouth before the cry he'd seen building could reach the neighbors. 

As he swallowed her moans, he was incapable of making a sound as her body clutched and squeezed and dragged his orgasm out of him, control snapping like a twig. His hips slammed into her again and again, his lungs burning from the torture he was putting them through, but he wouldn't stop kissing her. Her moans had turned to a hum and she bit at his tongue, causing an erratic thrust of his hips that had her gasping and clutching him again. 

His body finally protested in every way and he collapsed, dragging in deep lungfuls of air as he pulled out of her and rolled to his side, half-dragging her with him. His fingers felt clumsy as he removed and tied off the condom, letting it fall from his fingers. Shockingly cold sweat rolled down his overheated skin, causing him to shiver. 

A new sensation dragged across his chest and he groaned, prying open his eyes to see Ryanne's nails poised for another pass. He caught her wrist with a trembling hand. "Please," he begged, his voice as shaky as his grasp. "Too much." 

Her smile was pure wickedness as she scooted closer and licked a path from his stomach up his chest, then dragged the flat of her tongue over one of his nipples. "Ggnnnhhh," he mumbled around his own tongue, falling onto his back as she licked his other nipple. His hands found their way to her back, then her hair, just as she took the little nub in her teeth and tugged upward. 

"Fuck!" he yelled, banging his head on the floor. It took some reserve strength he didn't know he had not to rip out her hair or crush her head. He shoved the flat of his hand in his mouth as she repeated the move on his other nipple, which stifled his scream and prevented him from hurting her. 

His heart felt like it was pounding its way out of his chest, and he feared that his lungs would never forgive him for the punishment he'd put them through. He tensed as he felt the tickle of Ryanne's hair on his chest, but then relaxed as she lay down, her ear pressed against his heart. 

"Hm, so that's what it takes to get you to scream," she remarked casually, though he could feel her still breathing heavily, too.

He couldn't reach the parts of her he wanted to from their current position, so he settled for stroking a fingertip along the shell of her ear. "That's not the only thing," he said just as casually, smirking as she turned her head to eye him. 

"Was that a challenge?" she queried.

He stretched beneath her, flexing muscles and loosening those that were getting tight. His smirk widened as he felt a hitch in her breathing. "Be careful in what you wish for, Ryanne. Payback's a bitch, after all." 

"And all's fair in love and war?" she quipped with a raised eyebrow. 

He rested his hands at the small of her back. "There's nothing fair in war," he said quietly as he stroked her skin. 

She searched his eyes for something, then nodded and closed her eyes, resting her head back on his chest. They lay in quiet contentment, allowing their bodies to cool and their hearts to return to their normal rate of beating. 

As Hillary's stomach growled, Ryanne laughed. "I take it you're hungry?"

He hadn’t been thinking of food, but his body clearly needed to refuel. "Well, I did go through the trouble of setting up this lovely indoor picnic," he said with a twinkle in his eye. "It'd be a shame to let the food go to waste." 

They fed each other while sitting naked on a blanket in her living room. If he stole a kiss between bites, or she stroked his thigh, neither complained. 

With the food demolished and the wine bottle half empty, Hillary leaned back on his elbow and admired Ryanne's body. The light dusting of freckles on her shoulders and back taunted him with their randomness; his inner organizer wanting to connect them with the tip of his tongue to create a pattern. 

He wanted to know if she was ticklish. When he'd kissed her inner elbows, she'd made no indication that she was, but there were still underarms, waist and soles of her feet to test. He wanted to know if her ears were sensitive to nibbling; if her breasts responded as eagerly to his fingers as they'd done for his mouth. If the sweat that pooled in the hollow of her clavicle tasted the same as that on the crease of her thigh. 

A flush highlighted her upper chest, giving her skin a rosy glow. He met her gaze, heady with lust, and felt an answering heat low in his gut. 

"You're looking at me as if I'm the next course," she said, her voice deepened with desire. 

He cocked his head to the side and grinned. "Well, I didn't buy dessert." His voice wasn't as playful as he'd hoped; he was being distracted by the heat pouring off of her. Even though he'd nearly exhausted himself an hour ago, his body was signaling that it was ready for another round. 

His cock jumped as she eyed it, licking her lips as her gaze traveled up his stomach to his chest. Her eyes didn't move higher and he felt the heat of a blush over his upper chest and neck. When the tip of her tongue darted out to lick her lips again, he couldn't stop the small moan from escaping. 

"Do you want me, Nicholas?" she asked quietly, though he could hear the tremor in her voice. 

"Yes," he answered as he licked his lips, unable to maintain a steady tone, himself. 

She held out her hand and he grasped it firmly, both to steady her trembling and prevent her from seeing his own. "Let's go to bed." 

She led him upstairs, her pull on him mesmerizing. 

She was ticklish on the soles of her feet, yet nowhere else. She responded with a low, pleased hum as he nibbled at her ears. Sweat tasted sweeter at her neck and richer at her thighs, but was saltiest at the small of her back. Her freckles could hold the secrets to mapping the night sky, as he kissed and licked each one. Her breasts loved his mouth as he sucked at them, then blew cool air over the hardened nubs. Her hands clawed at the mattress when he twisted and pulled at her nipples, her voice rising in pitch as he used his teeth to do the same. 

But it was her voice, hoarse from her cries of ecstasy, that reduced him to raw, animalistic need when she declared, "I love you, Nicholas." 

She turned the tables on him, flipping him onto his back as she straddled his waist and did as thorough an inspection of him as he'd done to her. She already knew about his nipples, but she discovered a soft spot behind his ear that left him shaking. She nipped and licked along his neck and chest, lingering over spots when he inhaled sharply. His skin prickled when she licked his inner elbow and around his belly button, but that was as close to ticklish as he got. 

He didn't have many freckles, but Ryanne discovered scars both old and newer scattered over his skin. She placed reverent kisses to each one, which left him shaking with another emotion he couldn't understand. 

His breath hitched as her cheek brushed against his erection, and he bit his lip to keep from embarrassing himself as she licked his inner thigh. When she paused, he lifted his head to see what happened, then let his head drop back to the mattress with a groan. The evil glint in her eye didn't bode well for his sanity. At least Lara's enemies had never known about this form of torture. He grabbed hold of the bedframe with both hands as her mouth and tongue flicked the base of his cock and between his thighs, an undignified whimper escaping as she pushed his thigh out to the side to give her better access. 

As she licked up the underside of his erection, it felt as though hundreds of ants were crawling over his skin, igniting the nerve endings. He writhed, trying to get away from the sensation, but it persisted. "Stop – whatever it is, stop," he gasped as he felt the burning rush of orgasm starting. "Can't come like this - need to be inside you." 

The sensations stopped abruptly as the bed dipped, Ryanne's body sliding up his. "What is it, love?" she murmured as she kissed the tension around his mouth. "Did I hurt you?" 

He buried his hands in her hair as he cupped her face to kiss her. "God, no," he gasped. "Whatever you were doing was so bloody fantastic, it nearly ended the show prematurely." 

Her brow wrinkled in confusion. "You weren't that sensitive the other night."

As his fingers massaged her scalp, distracting his body from it's buzzing pleasure, he felt that same sensation across the back of his hand. "It was your hair," he exclaimed softly. "Your hair was dragging across my skin. It felt like I was coming _out_ of my skin." 

"Is it better now?" she asked as her fingers raked through the hairs on his chest. "Are you ready for me?" 

He kissed her cheeks. "Always." Before he could move, she slid down his body and reached behind her to grasp his erection. 

His hands curved around her waist as she sank down on him, his entire body tensing. Time slowed down with her gentle movements, the connection between them electric. Hours; days could have passed and he wouldn't have noticed. There was nothing but Ryanne, surrounding him, inside him, filling him and renewing him. When she came this time, it was with a low moan as she shook violently. He was a heartbeat behind, gripping her waist as he lost himself in her. 

She dropped bonelessly to his chest, panting quietly. His arms curved around her protectively, brushing the damp hair back from her face. He felt himself slip out of her and gently rolled her to her side. She murmured a protest, half asleep, but he kissed her forehead and she settled. He removed the used condom and tied it off, dropping it onto the floor as he turned back to Ryanne. He pulled her back to his chest and she wrapped an arm around him, snuggling her head beneath his chin. It felt odd to sleep in the nude – again – but the air was warm and so was she, and it was easy to let his guard down. 

As he drifted to sleep, his lips curved in a smile as he heard her whispered, "Thank you for the flowers."


	6. Daylight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hillary has to leave in the morning. Will he ever see Ryanne again?

Hillary kept his breathing deep and even as he felt eyes watching him. It took him a moment to remember whose bed he was sleeping in, then he smiled. 

"You have amazing eyelashes," Ryanne murmured. "You don't really notice them until your eyes are closed. They're like shadows against your skin." 

His smile widened. "So I should keep my eyes closed, then?" he teased. 

A fingertip delicately traced the shell of his ear. "Maybe, if you keep your eyes closed, good things might happen." 

He licked his lips. "What if I open my eyes?" 

"Well," he could hear laughter in Ryanne's voice, "Then good things might happen." 

"Hm," he pretended to contemplate. "I have no choice, really." He opened his eyes to see her green eyes studying him. "Good morning, gorgeous." 

The smile he had heard in her voice widened. "Good morning to you, handsome. How about some breakfast?" 

The room was bright with sunshine and he frowned slightly. It was only then he noticed she was dressed and her hair was slightly damp. He struggled to sit up, feeling the aches and soreness of a night well spent. "What time is it?" 

She pushed herself up to lean next to him against the headboard. "Half past eight. I figured you could use the sleep after your rather spectacular performance last night." 

Feeling guilty for sleeping while Ryanne was up and about, he accused lightly, "You should have woken me. How long have you been up?" 

"I've only had a soak in the tub and gotten dressed," she assured him, then nodded toward his side of the bed. "And I got your suitcase. Throw on something decent and meet me downstairs. There's a café I go to every Saturday morning and I'm taking you there. If they're out of my favorite blueberry scone, there'll be hell to pay, Mr. Hillary." The teasing lilt in her voice took the bite out of her words. 

He felt sluggish and fuzzy as he tried to keep up with her already buzzing energy. Deciding it was best to just do whatever Ryanne told him, he sighed, "As you wish."

He was pulled back from leaving the bed and given an unexpected, tender kiss. "I love you, too," she murmured. 

He frowned as he tried to puzzle out her meaning. "Not that I don't share the sentiment, but I didn't say anything." 

She was beaming. "Of course you did, _Westley_ ," she teased, emphasizing the name. 

He shot her a quizzical look, and she must have taken pity on his confusion, because she explained, "You were quoting _The Princess Bride_." 

It was clearly far too early in the morning for him to be having this conversation. "I was?"

At seeing he really didn't know what she was talking about, Ryanne launched into a passionate description of the movie. He nodded politely, a distracted smile on his face as he soaked up her enthusiasm. When she seemed to run out of steam, he pushed the hair back from her cheek to kiss it. "Maybe we can watch it when we get back from your scone hunt," he offered. 

"That sounds like a plan." She lightly slapped his thigh, then rubbed the slight sting away. "Now get moving, mister. Those scones won't wait." 

Deciding a hungry Ryanne was not to be trifled with, he gathered his clothes, washed and was dressed in under fifteen minutes. Still toweling his hair, he peered in the mirror. He looked different; was that what love looked like? With a playful grin, he bounded down the stairs to meet Ryanne for their walk. 

The scones were delicious and the tea equally so, but it was the company that Hillary enjoyed most. The day was already warm so they took their time walking back to her house, holding hands while her head rested on his shoulder. It was a perfect time, but he couldn't help but think of tomorrow. Tomorrow he would have to leave her, and he didn't know when – or if – he'd see her again. 

His hand tightened on hers and she squeezed back, as if she understood. 

=-=-=-=

Upon returning to the flat, they made short work of cleaning up the remnants of Hillary's impromptu picnic before settling down on the couch to watch the movie. Ryanne curled up next to him, her head resting on his chest. He idly stroked his fingers up and down her arm as he listened to her quote along with the story. She was obviously enjoying herself, and he was too, but he couldn't stop his mind from racing. 

How could he continue to see her? How could he discover love and walk away from it? A small part of him tried to dismiss it as infatuation that he would get over with time, but what if it wasn't? What if this was his shot at happiness and he let it slip away? He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and she snuggled deeper into his side in response. 

He was smart; he was resourceful. He would figure out a way. He just needed time. As Westley kissed his princess at the happily ever after part of the film, he realized time was running out. 

"I know what you're thinking," her soft voice interrupted his thoughts. She clicked off the television and turned to him. 

He studied her face, her expressive eyes, her tantalizing mouth and was compelled to kiss it. "I didn't mean to zone out," he started to explain, but he could tell that wasn't what was on her mind. He took a steadying breath. "I want to keep seeing you, but I don’t see a way…yet." 

He could tell she was forcing herself to be cheerful as she stated, "There are 52 weekends a year, plus holidays."

He lingered over a kiss to her forehead. "And a three hour train ride between us. I can't ask you to give up your free time for me." 

Defiance shone from her eyes. "Well, I _am_ asking you to give up your free time for _us_. You've only just told me you love me. You'll be gone tomorrow, and then what? We just forget we ever met? I can't do that, Nicholas. I love you, and that's not going to go away, no matter how much you might wish it." 

"I don't!" he protested. "I don’t wish it. I do love you, but is it enough? Can we make a long distance romance work?" He tucked her hair behind her ear, hating himself for what he was about to say. "Will it be enough for you? What about in a month? Three months? Three years? Can we keep this up indefinitely?" 

She shook her head. "Why are you worrying about three years from now? Can't we worry about the next 24 hours? The next week?" 

He felt a bit of defiance flash in his eyes. "I'm a planner. My life is spent scheduling and organizing an entire household, so I need that structure in my life. But now, I also need _you_ in my life. I want to be with you, but I need time to sort out how." 

She rested her head back on his chest and echoed his earlier thoughts: "Time is the one thing we don't have." 

=-=-=-=

By unspoken agreement, they didn't mention their predicament again. Instead, they spent the day getting to know each other even better. They talked as Ryanne made out her bills and reviewed her appointments for upcoming week. They talked as they prepared a simple lunch. They talked as Ryanne planted her violets and Hillary helped her weed the garden. 

They opened up about childhood fears and hopes, about dreams wild and practical, about loves and losses. Hillary could sense that Ryanne knew he was holding back, but he couldn't tell her about his time with Lara. Not fully. It wasn't his story to tell, and he remained loyal to Lara first, most and last. Ryanne said she understood, but Hillary knew that if they were to continue to see each other, if he truly loved her, that he would need to tell her about the wilder side of his butlering. 

Late in the night, Ryanne made a point of folding the sheets she'd left out for him and placed them back in the closet. He followed her up the stairs to her bedroom, no longer anticipatory but melancholy. Her gentle kisses tasted bittersweet, as if she were saying goodbye to him already. 

They took their time, slowly undressing each other and kissing skin as it was exposed. Where they had been manic and urgent, now they savored: murmuring assurances and endearments as their desire built from a slow ember. 

As they faced each other on the bed, as he finally pressed inside her, he knew he could not let her go. "I love you, Ryanne," he whispered as he rolled his hips. "I will find a way. I promise." 

Tears shone in her eyes, her mouth opening on a gasp as he touched her deeply. "I'll hold you to that promise, Nicholas." 

He had no idea how long they made love. He only knew he wanted it to last through the night, through tomorrow, through all the tomorrows. He held no urgency, only the gentle push-pull of their bodies as they became one mind; one body; one spirit. 

When she finally came, it was with a quietness that was thunderous. He joined her minutes later, after kissing the tears from her cheeks. As he gathered his breath, Ryanne's fingertips brushed his closed eyes, spreading the wetness gathered at his eyelashes. Her kiss was a promise and an affirmation. 

He held her tight until he fell asleep to the sound of her heartbeat. 


	7. As You Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I stole the title from The Princess Bride. The important thing to focus on is that this is the end. Hillary is back at the Manor, but his heart remains in Hull, with Ryanne.

Hillary shook out clothes as he pulled them from the dryer, folding and placing them in the basket absently. 

He'd been on autopilot since returning to Croft Manor two weeks ago. Since he'd left Ryanne at her door, refusing to let her see him off at the station. He wouldn't have been able to say goodbye to her otherwise. He'd almost given in anyway; her gaze heavy and poignant as the cab pulled away from the curb. 

He'd deflected her advances to make love that last morning, knowing that if he'd let himself, he'd never have left her side. Rather, their last hours together had been spent outdoors, walking in the park near her flat. It had felt like the most natural thing in the world to draw her against him with an arm around her shoulders. He wasn't normally one for overt displays of affection, yet he had an overpowering need to _touch_ her, to prove that she was real. 

His mind kept insisting that theirs was merely a holiday fling, that it was wonderful while it lasted but it had to end. His heart would not be reasoned with, no matter how often he told himself that it was an impossible situation. Ryanne had her life in Hull, and his life was in Buckinghamshire. 

While he carried the basket of clean laundry to Lara's room, his mind replayed how Ryanne had lovingly kissed each of his scars. As he transferred the fresh laundry to the bottom of the piles of clothing, his skin tingled as he remembered the tickling of her hair as it slid over his chest. 

"Hillary." 

He looked up at the sound of his name, surprised to find Lara studying him. He got the impression that it wasn't the first time she'd called his name and he was immediately contrite. "Did you need something, Lara?" 

Her shrewd look cut right through him. "Yes. For you to tell me what's wrong. You've not been yourself these past two weeks." 

His hand automatically smoothed over the slight wrinkles in the shirts he'd just stacked, the action giving him time to compose himself. He should have known that nothing got by Lara, least of all by someone she'd known for fifteen years. Lara shouldn't be expending energy worrying about him. She was the one still recovering from bruised ribs. He just had a broken heart. "I'm perfectly all right," he lied smoothly as he closed the armoire. 

Her eyebrow quirked and he knew he'd been caught out. "I'll be fine," he amended quietly, sending her every indication that he'd rather not talk about it. 

Lara's laser stare vanished as she closed her eyes. Relaxing slightly, Hillary turned and made his way to the door, but halted as Lara said, "You know you can talk to me about whatever's on your mind." 

His hand was on the doorknob. It would only take a quick twist and he'd be away from her concern that was beginning to disarm him. "There are some things I prefer to keep private," he stated in an even tone. If he allowed himself to talk about Ryanne, then the heartache would be all the more painful. He couldn't burden himself with more thoughts of her. Day and night, he ached for Ryanne. He wanted to hear her laugh again, wanted to feel her hair sliding through his fingers, wanted to lose himself in her until they were both exhausted. But his duty; his responsibilities, lie with Lara and Bryce. Loyalty. Honor. Respect. Even love. He couldn't abandon them. 

"I know you value your privacy," Lara answered softly, "But there may come a time when whatever is on your mind will weigh so heavily that you'll need to tell someone. I hope I've earned enough of your trust that you would consider talking to me."

He spun on his heel, shocked that Lara could even _consider_ that he didn't trust her…and realized too late that it was a ploy to get him to open up. His mouth settled into a grim line. "Dirty pool, Lady Croft," he grumbled. 

"I never play fair and you know it," she said, not unkindly. "I don't want to you feel obligated or forced into telling me anything you don't want to reveal. But I have noticed you’ve been quiet since your holiday, even for you. You're occasionally distracted, which I've never seen of you before. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were moping." 

The gentle persuasion was pulling at his heart, whispering to him to tell Lara everything, but he couldn't. Not her. Not anyone. He kept his voice steady and even as he replied a bit too formally, "I appreciate your concern, but it's something I must take care of myself. I apologize if it's affected my work." 

Lara's features darkened. "Nicholas Hillary, you know I don't give a toss about the work. I've been worried about you. You're depressed and moping around like you–" Lara broke off her tirade and her eyes widened slightly. "Like you've had your heart broken. You fell in love on your holiday." She stated it as a fact, as if there was no doubt that she was right. 

"You are far too perceptive for your own good, My Lady," he said lightly, but that was all the acknowledgement he would give to her observation. He gave her a slight bow, his usual way to end a conversation he didn't want to continue having. "I have duties I must attend. If you'll excuse me." 

He was halfway out the door when Lara said softly, "I'm sorry it didn't work out for you, Hillary." 

Despite knowing that she'd said it to gauge his reaction, his hand tightened involuntarily on the doorknob. That move she couldn't see from her supine position on the bed, but the slight tensing of his shoulders Lara would not miss. It was all the proof Lara would need to know that she was right, and he hated her just a little bit for it. He continued out of her room without further pause. 

He busied himself around the Manor until suppertime. He took Lara her dinner as always, but avoided eye contact. Lara didn't missed the slight, and though she apologized, it didn't ease his dilemma. 

He couldn't stop obsessing about Ryanne. He thought he saw her in town just that afternoon, after purchasing the silly movie that they'd watched that last Saturday. He hadn't cared for it all that much, but the fact that Ryanne quoted along with the film had him buying it before he was consciously aware of needing it. 

As he put the DVD into the player, his phone chimed that he'd received a text. The movie was instantly forgotten as he turned off the lights, slipped off his robe and climbed into bed, settling himself before he read the text. 

_I miss you the most when I'm in bed alone_

His faint, sad smile was reflected in his reply: _I miss you night and day, every minute of every hour._

_Saturday 1:47pm Meet me at train station_

His heart started racing. They hadn't made an attempt to meet up, not with Lara's reliance on him and Ryanne's work load. He swiftly went over the weekend roster in his head. Nothing important, as Lara was still recovering. No expected visitors or guests. No adventuring. 

His mind filled with ideas on what they could do and where they could stay. His fingers shook slightly as he texted: _Saturday 1:47. I'll find a hotel_

 _Have I mentioned how much I love you?_ came the reply. 

He replied: _Only this morning. And I love you, too._

Heat burnished his cheeks and neck as her next text flashed on his screen: _I'll pretend its your fingers getting me off tonight to get me through to Sat_

He was never comfortable when she got graphic in her texts, but he couldn't deny that her words had the same effect as her body. With a soft groan, he swiftly typed and sent his reply, closing his eyes and wrapping his now free hand around his half-hard penis. 

_Your gorgeous when you suck me off_

He let his imagination run wild, picturing every detail about her, her touch, her scent, her soft sounds and softer lips. It wasn't long before the rush of pleasure overtook him. Still breathing hard, he reached for the tissues and cleaned himself up, noticing the flash of an unread message on his phone. 

_I love it when I ruin your grammar._

He sent his last text before settling down to sleep: _I'll ruin more than that on Saturday_

=-=-=-=-=

Watching Ryanne walk toward him at the train station was perhaps the hardest thing he'd ever done. Watching, and not giving away that he wanted to take her right there on the bench, or the floor, or the lounge. 

She let her gaze linger on him, her eyes heavy with desire and alight with need as she walked past him. He fell into step beside her, neither of them speaking. He didn't know if he could actually speak around the lump in his throat. She looked gorgeous, as always, but there was something more to her. Maybe absence did make the heart grow fonder, or perhaps it was the illicit nature of their meeting. 

He'd lied to Lara to get out of the Manor, but he'd encased it within the truth: he _was_ seeing a dentist, just not for a toothache. It wasn't easy to lie to Lara and he wasn't sure he'd actually succeeded, but she had let him go with a polite nod. The guilt he felt was minor, compared to the overwhelming urgency of the nearness of Ryanne. 

The hotel was only a block from the station, yet he was half-hard by the time they got into the lift. They only had to go to the third floor. He could make it that far. He could…

He blew out an unsteady breath as he felt Ryanne's hand settle on his arse. They were alone in the lift, but he knew there were CCTV cameras and he wouldn't put on a show. He swiftly walked to the room as the lift opened, fumbling the keycard before pushing open the door. "Get inside before I strip you naked and take you in the hallway," he rasped, surprised at the intensity of his emotions. 

"Another minute and I would have let you. These walls better be soundproof, because I'm going to make you scream," she retaliated as she shut the door. 

His arms wrapped around her as she threw herself at him, mouths clashing as they relished _touch_ after so long without. Hands scrambled at restrictive clothing, her fingers tugging at his shirt and his hands slipping beneath her skirt. He reached her underwear and started to tug them down, groaning as he felt how soaked they were. 

His back was to the wall, holding them both up as Ryanne succeeded in pushing his pants down. Her hands were sure and strong as she stroked him, using his erection to turn them around until her back was to the wall. Her eyes were dark with need and promise, and he could not deny her…or himself. 

He slid his hands down the backs of her thighs, getting a firm hold before he crouched down enough to push into her. Her desperate moan shattered him, a reminder of what he'd missed these past few weeks. She wrapped one leg around his waist as he straightened, feeling her arms around his shoulders as he pressed upward, burying himself deep within her. 

He groaned with each thrust, mindless in his passion to reclaim her. Her nails dug into his shoulders, bursts of pain urging him deeper, faster; a rush to bring her to the earth-shattering orgasm she deserved. They didn't kiss so much as fought for dominance, nipping and sucking and biting in a heightened awareness of the other. 

She clenched around him, nearly setting off his climax, but not yet. He pressed his forehead against the wall for leverage and changed the angle inside her, rolling his hips until he felt her start to shake. On his next thrust he covered her mouth with his, swallowing her groans and wincing as her nails dug deep into his flesh. 

His leg muscles were trembling as he let himself go, pushing her up the wall as he drove himself to completion. 

Despite his erratic breathing, he met each of Ryanne's tender kisses, closing his eyes as her fingertips reverently stroked along his cheeks. 

"I love you," she declared breathlessly. 

He eased her back down to the floor, teasing the tip of her nose with a kiss. "Not half as much as I love you, my tigress," he replied, wincing as painful throbs made themselves known across his shoulders.

Her voice was distressed as she lamented, "I've hurt you again. I'll cut my nails for next time." 

He took up her hand and kissed each fingertip. "Don't you dare," he admonished. "I worship everything about you, especially your passion." 

She ran the fingers of her free hand through his hair, smiling up at him. "I think we may have gotten carried away. I didn't even say hello. Hello." 

He kissed her palm. "Hello," he replied, then smirked. "You look ravished." And she did, with her skirt mostly bunched up around her thighs, her blouse untucked and her hair flying every which way. 

He tracked Ryanne's hand as she flicked at the buttons on his shirt. It was only then he noticed the cool air of the room circulate around his bare arse and groin, his pants around his ankles…and his shoes still perfectly laced on his feet. He stared down at the state of himself, biting back a smile. 

"I'd say the same about you," she grinned, then they burst into laughter. 

They shared kisses as they finished undressing each other, then fell to the bed, unable to stop touching. He cupped her cheek and drew her in for a languid kiss, chasing the faint flavor of toothpaste. As his hand trailed down her stomach and slipped lower, she hummed and pulled back. "Hold that thought. I'll be right back." 

He watched her as she retrieved her bag and went into the en suite, then fell back to the bed, stretching languorously. His muscles were still warm but were starting to feel a bit sore. Perhaps he should run a bath for them after awhile. A nice soak as they soaped each other sounded fun. They could use that time to catch up, not that they didn't talk at least every few days. He needed to see her expressions; watch her enthusiasm and passion as she talked about what she truly loved. 

"Well, don't you look a picture." Her teasing tone drew his gaze and his heart stuttered. She was posed in the doorway, the light behind her silhouetting her naked form. 

"There are not enough words in the English language to describe your beauty," he breathed as she crawled across the bed to hover over him.

Her eyes sparkled down at him, darkened again with hunger and longing. "Make love to me until the stars burn out of the sky." 

Though it was late afternoon, he did his best to grant her wish.

It was well into the evening when he finally ran the bath, after they'd ordered room service for supper and put out the 'Do Not Disturb' sign. He massaged her scalp as he washed her hair, loving her sensual moans and the way she stroked his thighs. 

He was content to rub gently at her clit, drawing out her pleasure until her hands tightened on his thighs and she breathed out a shuddering sigh. "You're spoiling me," she said with a pleased rumble, half asleep in his arms. 

He kissed the side of her neck, mouthing his way up her wet skin to press a kiss behind her ear. "I'll be the judge of that," he whispered as his thumb caressed her nipple. 

"We're going to wrinkle like old prunes," she cautioned him, then turned to face him, displacing water over the floor. Her gaze was sleepy as she stretched out over him, kissing him deeply. "Let's get some sleep so I can have the pleasure of waking you in the morning." 

There was no mistaking her intention. He helped her out of the tub, then they took turns toweling each other dry. He pulled on his shorts while she slipped into a nightgown, then they crawled into bed and fell asleep, wrapped around one another. 

~~~~~

Hillary managed to sneak away to Hull a week later, where he didn't get a wink of sleep but he drank his fill of Ryanne. That trip lasted him about three days before he yearned for her touch again. Their phone calls became more frequent and their texts more sexually graphic, but it wasn't the release he craved; it was her. 

Ryanne surprised him with a text that she was on her way one rainy afternoon. They hadn't arranged anything, but he couldn't not see her. Lara was in the Northwest Territories and wouldn't be checking in until that evening. He borrowed the Mini Cooper and booked a room at the same hotel as he pulled into the station. He was scanning the notices for her platform when he spotted her walking toward him at a good clip.

He didn't hold back as he kissed her in greeting, swept up in the taste of rain on her lips. When he feared he wouldn't be able to let her go, he deliberately stepped back and licked his lips. His voice sounded foreign to his ears; rough and low. "I've got the car and a room booked." 

She nodded, not speaking during the car ride or the lift to their room. Once the door was shut, she ripped his shirt over his head, then dove for his mouth. 

There was no finesse, no tenderness to the frenzied pace Ryanne set, but he understood. He had the same need; the same ache. When they were spent, sprawled out on the bed and catching their breath, she turned to trace a finger along his jaw. 

"It's killing me, being away from you." 

He grasped her wrist and pressed a kiss to the pulsepoint. "I know," he replied brokenly, feeling as though a lead weight had settled on his chest. 

~~~~~

The next time Hillary saw her was two weeks after that liaison, in Nottingham. Ryanne had a conference that took up most of her time, but he was waiting in her bed when she was done for the day. 

Time stretched infinitely in the space between their visits, but as his duties demanded more of his time, he couldn't get away every time Ryanne was free. Then when he did have a day free, Ryanne would be busy with her patients and couldn't spare the time. 

Nearly four months after he'd first said goodbye to her in Hull, they were cocooned in her bed, exhausted and heartbroken. 

He stroked her back idly, memorizing her features as though he'd never see her again. Though the words nearly choked him, he said, "I can't stay here," as much a reminder for him as a painful lament. 

Her hand caressed his cheek, tears glistening in her eyes. "And I can't go with you."

He kissed her forehead and pulled her against his chest, neither of them able to sleep. 

=-=-=-=-=

Though he performed his duties as well as he'd ever done, his heart wasn't in it and he knew it showed. Lara hadn't said anything, but Bryce was harassing him almost daily. He deflected as many questions as he could, but Bryce alone knew he'd slipped out of the Manor during Lara's absence, and Bryce loved nothing more than a mystery. It was something he and Ryanne had in common. 

It had been almost four months since they met, yet he still couldn't see a way to be with Ryanne for longer than a day or two. He wanted to be with her; God, did he, but he couldn't see a way around it. Lara depended on him, and Bryce would waste away if he didn't force food under his nose at least once a day. He didn't kid himself that he wasn't replaceable, but Lara would be hard pressed to find another butler with his special skill set. 

And what would he do, if he didn't work at the Manor? What other job was he suited for? Going back to regular butlering would bore him in months, if not weeks. He was too old to reenlist, and besides, he'd become used to the normal days interspersed with excitement. He enjoyed working for Lara and Bryce and didn't want to leave them. 

As if summoned by his thoughts, Lara opened the door to the study. "There you are, Hillary." 

He turned from dusting the bookcase to acknowledge her. "How may I help you, Lara?"

She strode into the room and settled behind her desk. "Several weeks ago you went to the dentist, but it wasn't Doctor Ellingham, was it?" 

His heart leapt into his throat. "No, it wasn't," he confirmed, thinking fast. "He didn't have an availability." 

Her gaze was heavy on him, as if seeing right through his lie. "Doctor Ellingham has rang me that he'll be retiring in a few weeks, and has asked for my help to find a suitable replacement. What was the name of the dentist you saw? Were they capable? Did you like them?" 

The tension drained from him as the opportunity of a lifetime presented itself. Heart pounding and a smile teasing his lips, he said, "Doctor Ryanne Byrne, out of Hull. And she is fantastic." Realizing he sounded a bit too enthusiastic about a dentist, he added, "She was highly professional, efficient and caring." 

Lara looked up from her writing, her expression puzzled. "You say she's based in Hull? How did you hear about her?" 

He felt his face grow warm as he was caught out in his lie. "On my holiday," he said quickly. "I had some trouble then, and she was recommended to me by a shopkeep." 

"That doesn't explain why she was in Buckingham, or how you managed to find her here." Lara's shrewd look caused the breath to catch in Hillary's throat. "She was down here to meet with you. She's the woman from your holiday; the woman you've been running off to see on weekends." 

They weren't questions or accusations, yet Hillary found himself at a loss for words as guilt crept into his conscious. He gave a curt nod and kept his gaze trained on the floor. 

Lara's tone was sympathetic yet he detected an undertone of agitation. "Why did you never say anything? You didn't have to skulk around like a teenager sneaking out of his parents' house. She is welcome at the Manor as your guest." 

His head snapped up in shock. He was shaken, equal parts scared and hopeful. "You wouldn't mind?"

She gave him a warm smile. "This is your home, Hillary, and you can invite whomever you wish to stay over. You should know that I would never interfere with your happiness. This Doctor Byrne, she makes you happy?" 

He licked his lips. "More than. I – love her," he stammered, feeling his face flame hot. It was the first time he'd admitted to anyone other than Ryanne how he felt. It was freeing. It was terrifying. It felt like his face was being split in two by his grin. "I didn't expect it," he continued, the dam of privacy splintering. "I didn't even realize at first." 

"Love rarely happens when we expect it," Lara agreed, then her face softened. "Would you object to me extending her a job interview, or do you have plans already?" 

He was basking in the relief of not having to lie to Lara anymore and didn't understand her question. "Plans?" he repeated distractedly. 

"I'd like to know if I'm about to lose my butler and friend," she said lightly. 

The full force of her question – the meaning and implication, shook him. "I'd never – I won't abandon you, Lara, but I won't ask Ryanne to give up her life in Hull. It's why we've had to 'skulk around' for so many months." His good mood soured. "Neither of us is willing to force the other to make that choice." 

"I see," Lara mused, looking pensive. "I'm sorry, Hillary, but I didn't want to make assumptions. Would it make things worse if I invited her for an interview? That doesn't guarantee she'll be offered the job; I don't think either of you would be appreciative if I played favourites." 

He didn't have to wonder about Ryanne's reaction; she would be livid. "No, we wouldn't," he muttered, feeling dejected. It had all started so promising, the idea of Ryanne living in town; being able to see her every day and spend every night with her. Now it was all muddled. "Let me talk to her. I'll broach the subject and see if she's open to the idea of moving her practice. It's okay if I invite her here to discuss it?" he asked, though he was fairly certain of Lara's answer. 

"Of course," Lara insisted. "That sounds like a very good idea. Talk it over and get back to me." 

If he was going to go through the trouble of inviting Ryanne to the Manor, presumably to stay with him at least for the weekend, there was something else he should discuss with her. "There is one other thing," he hedged. "I've never told Ryanne the full extent of my duties. I wouldn't betray your trust, but I couldn't find the words to ask you…"

Lara stood up and walked around the desk to take his hand. "Hillary, if you've placed your trust in this woman, then I consider it high praise and a firm endorsement of her character. You may tell her anything about your life here that you choose to share."

He didn't know what to say. "I – thank you." 

She squeezed his hand. "You're welcome. Now, go; call your lady love." 

He flushed with embarrassment and practically fled from the study. He delayed until late in the day before calling, working out just how much he should tell Ryanne. In the end, he opted to keep the call brief and direct: "Ryanne, I'd like you to come to the Manor." 

Her surprise couldn't be more evident. "Come there?" 

He pitched his voice low, even though he was alone in his room. "I'd like to you to meet my family, and Lara has given her blessing that you stay with me at the Manor. There are some things I'd like to discuss with you that would be better done in person. Whenever you can find the time." 

Her tone was reserved as she replied, "I have something to tell you, too. I'll look at my appointments and text you back." 

His stomach fluttered with nerves. "All right." He paused, wondering if he should say anything further. "I love you." 

Her tone was softer as she replied, "I love you, too." 

=-=-=-=

The fluttery feeling was back as he opened the front door to Ryanne stood on the other side, smiling nervously. "Hello," he greeted her, feeling a smile stretch across his face. She looked amazing; positively radiant in dress that set off her eyes. He was awed at how she managed to make simple cloth look regal and sophisticated. 

"Hello, yourself." Ryanne's frank gaze swept him from head to toe, causing desire to pool low in his gut. She tilted her head with a short nod. "Come outside," she urged playfully. 

"What?" he breathed distractedly, still mesmerized by her appearance. There was something different about her; something more tantalizing. 

Her fingers stroked along his lapel, taking firm hold of it and pulling him across the threshold. He stumbled over her suitcase into her arms, catching up quickly as she kissed him. 

"I fantasized about this," she murmured between kisses. "What you'd look like in your uniform." 

"It's just a suit," he answered, moaning as his hands curved around her arse. 

"I've never seen you in a suit," she reminded him as she pulled away, breathing hard. "I don't want to rumple you." 

"Too late," he murmured as he drew her back to him, pressing their hips together so she could feel the strength of his arousal. He was breathing as though he'd run a marathon, but it was her nearness that made his heart beat faster. 

"We can't," she hissed, glancing through the open door.

He placed light, teasing kisses down her throat. "Lara's in town," he breathed into her skin, loving the soft moans that fell from her lips. "We have the place mostly to ourselves," he whispered in her ear before nibbling on the lobe. He looked deep into her eyes. "I'm yours for the afternoon." A flicker of hesitation in her expression drew him up short. "What is it? Is everything all right?" 

She bit her lip nervously. "Is there someplace we can talk in private?" 

~~~~~

He and Ryanne were in the study, sitting on the couch. He was surrounded by familiar, comfortable things, but he felt as if his life had just shifted. It had taken him precious seconds to process Ryanne's statement; the monumental, life-changing announcement that upended his world: "I'm pregnant." 

His heart felt full to bursting, yet he was paralyzed with fear. "Are you okay? How far along…? When did this happen?" 

Her head bowed as she toyed with the hem of her skirt. "We're both fine. The doctor says I'm about eight weeks." She glanced up at him, then quickly looked away. "We weren’t always careful; I was so frantic to touch you again…"

He took up her hands and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. " _No_ , no; I didn't mean to accuse you. I'm not upset, just surprised. Pleasantly, happily surprised." He brushed the hair back from her face, then cupped her cheek as he asked softly, "Why didn't you tell me before?"

He could see that she was struggling to contain her emotions, but enough bubbled to the surface; she was scared and joyful and overwhelmed. Tears shone in her eyes as she explained, "How could I, when I never knew when we could see each other again? I loved you more with each stolen kiss, but you can't deny that it's been harder to get away. My life is in Hull. My practice; my friends. Your duty and loyalty are here." 

He didn't miss the way her tone changed on 'loyalty'. He stroked his thumb along her cheekbone, gazing at her with wonder and determination. "I've never made it a secret that I am loyal to this household, but I _love_ you, and that surpasses all bounds of loyalty and duty. As much as I've devoted my life to this Manor, I would give it up if you asked it of me." 

The tears that threatened finally started to fall as Ryanne touched his cheek. "I won't ask you to give up your life, just as you won't ask me to give up mine. We're at an impossible impasse. If I can't have you, I can have a part of you with me always. I want this child, Nicholas. I want our child." 

His lips trembled as he kissed her, terrified and excited. "I want to see our child born. I want to see them grow up. I want to share in this important part of your life; our lives." All the pieces of his life convalesced into this one moment; his fears, hopes, losses, suffering and joy all settled into a startling clarity, and he felt at peace. "Marry me."

She blinked at him, her expression frozen. "What?" 

Wondering why on Earth he hadn't asked before then, he dropped to one knee and clasped her hands. "Lara's going to offer you a job here in Buckingham. Take it. Move your practice here. Be with me." Where she still seemed at a loss for words, he had too many, his heart overflowing. "I abase myself at your feet, a lost and lonely man with a broken heart. Make me whole again, Ryanne Byrne. Let me help you bring our child into the world. Let me help you raise them. Let me be there in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. You are my everything. You are my world." 

She pressed a hand over her mouth as tears rolled down her cheeks. He waited, heart in his mouth, until the hand came away and he could see her watery smile. "You insane, beautiful man. If I say yes, I want your promise on something." 

His heart soared and he kissed her knuckles. "Anything. Name it and it's yours." 

Some of the happiness left her eyes. "I don't want to live here. It's too much. I'd rather have a place in town, like my flat." 

The relief that she wasn't saying 'no' had him agreeing in a heartbeat. "I don't care where we live. If you want a flat in town, I'll find you one with a garden. If you don't like any of them in town, there are plenty of cottages and houses around the grounds. I'll go wherever you are, Ryanne." He grew hopeful as he watched her expression start to change. "Is that a 'yes', then?" 

She bit her lower lip and nodded, then a smile bloomed. "Yes, you daft bugger. Now get up here and kiss…" 

She hummed in pleasure as he swept her up in a deep kiss, holding her close. He started to chuckle, and then she started to giggle. Soon they were laughing, the tension draining and leaving them breathless. 

"I adore you," he sighed as he caressed her cheek. His face hurt from smiling so hard. 

"You say that now," she said, her playfulness dampened with a touch of dread. "Wait until I'm as big as a house and demanding strange foods at all hours of the night." 

He kissed her nose, then her cheeks, then her lips. "I look forward to it," he replied in all sincerity. 

THE END


End file.
